


After The Fall

by Jemima_Puddleduck



Series: After The Fall [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Reichenbach, Romance, Some vauguely sexy times (not explicit)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-20 10:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 24,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9487427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemima_Puddleduck/pseuds/Jemima_Puddleduck
Summary: John is distraught after Sherlock's fall, so much that he can't even face going back to Baker Street for the night. He goes to the only person who doesn't make him think of Sherlock. Jemima Felicity Jones, an old friend from the army whose life he saved when her legs were nearly blown off by a bomb. This is the story of what happens when she meets Sherlock Holmes.





	1. An Old Friend

Jemima was sitting in front of the television as usual. The room glowed with warm light from the screen. The mixture of moonlight from the crack in the curtains and the broken, dappled light from the TV was slightly unsettling. She picked up her steaming cup of tea and pulled a soft blanket around herself . She had only watched five minutes of her programme before the doorbell rang.

"It's fucking midnight!" Jemima shouted. The bell rang out again, her ears filled with the shrill noise. She groaned aloud and slung the blanket aside. She sighed and marched purposefully towards the door, ready to have a good go at anyone the other side of it. 

When she pulled the door open, what she revealed was definitely the last thing she had expected to see. John Watson was standing on her front step, looking dishevelled and desperate. Tears were pouring down his cheeks and the cuffs of his shirtsleeves were damp from continually wiping his red, sore eyes. She gently led him inside where he promptly collapsed into her arms. He was a ragdoll, unable to hold himself up any longer. Jemima sat him down on the sofa while he sobbed. She turned the telly off and the only sound in the room was of a broken man. 

"What happened?" Jemima asked shakily.

"Sherlock." He managed to choke out.

"Who's Sherlock?" She asked. 

John just cried harder, obviously not wanting to talk about it. Realising that it was probably inappropriate to probe any further she instead settled for "Is he ok?". John shook his head vigorously in reply. She knew what was coming next.

"Dead." He whispered in a hoarse voice. He broke down again, as if saying out loud had made it somehow more real. He gripped her tightly, struggling to hold himself together.

"Oh John." She whispered, not knowing how to comfort him. "I'm so sorry."

"Could I..." He stammered. "Could I stay here tonight?" He made eye contact with her for the first time since he got in.

"Yes of course you can!" Jemima told him without a second thought. She knew when someone was desperate, it's hard to miss, and John Watson was definitely desperate. She didn't have the heart to refuse him. He'd done so much for her, it was the least she could do.

"Thank you." He sobbed. "I just couldn't face going back home tonight and you are the only person I could think of that doesn't make me think of him."

"It's fine." She said. "Make yourself at home. Do you want to be alone or...?"

He nodded.

"Okay, I understand. Tell me if you need anything, I can get it for you."

"Thank you." He said in a tiny whisper behind her as she left.

Jemima left John crying in the living room. She got him a drink and then realised that there was nothing she could do for him now but leave him to his memories and go to bed. She was distressed at seeing her friend like that. She hadn't seen him in years and suddenly he'd turned up out of the blue, a complete mess. She hated to see him so distraught. Whoever Sherlock was, he must have been important. 

Jemima rolled over and fell into a sleep riddled with nightmares. She saw the blood and violence from her memories, forced to relive it again, and in the middle of all of it was John Watson.


	2. Only the Beginning

The next morning Jemima woke up to a shuffling noise from downstairs. It seemed like John was already up and making breakfast. She noticed on her way downstairs that the spare bedroom door had been left ajar and she peeked in. The curtains were still firmly closed and the light was switched off. The tissue box from last night was lying sideways on the floor and the small, metal waste-paper bin was overflowing with them. The covers were scrunched up in a ball in the middle of the bed, suggesting that John had slept curled up, like a small child. More tissues were lying on the mattress. Jemima made her way downstairs, habitually avoiding the creaky floorboards. She then padded with bare feet into the kitchen. The black floor tiles were cold against her feet but the bright walls and an abundance of light streaming in through the large window gave the room a sunny atmosphere. John had stayed with her a few times before so he knew he could just get up and get breakfast without bothering to wake her.

"Oh, you're awake." He sniffed, looking up from his toast at Jemima. His eyes were still red and puffy, he'd obviously been crying before she came in.

"Morning John. Shall I make some tea?"

"Oh um... yes please." He replied, still distant and distracted. 

"No sugar, right?" She asked.

"No sugar." He confirmed.

Jemima made his tea and her own, grabbed a slice of toast and sat down. John took his tea gratefully and for a while they sat and ate in silence.

"I'm sorry Jem." John said after a long pause.

"For what?" She asked through a mouthful of toast. Her golden brown curls accidentally went in the butter and she frowned as she wiped it off.

"For barging in on you last night." He said

"You shouldn't be sorry." She told him.

"No, I mean it, I shouldn't have. I had no right to expect it." He argued.

"You saved my life and stopped me from having to have both my legs amputated." Jemima pointed out. "I'm not even close to being even with that."

"I was an army doctor, it was my job." He said modestly.

"And you did it brilliantly." She replied. "You can barge in on me whenever you feel like it."

"I can't stay." He said "I have to go back."

"No, stay." She said.

John gave a large sigh.

"Fine, but for the love of god, please, take care of yourself." She pleaded. "I worry about you sometimes."

"Don't worry, I will." He assured her.

Twenty minutes later and he was standing in her doorway on the top step. He looked tired and bedraggled. His hair was standing up in all sorts of different directions and some stubble was growing on his chin. His shirt was untucked and he slouched over, very different from his usual soldier's posture. He gave Jemima a hug, thanked her for letting him stay and then he was off. Walking down the street without another word.

\------------------------------------------

Two years later

Jemima woke up to a small envelope on her doorstep with the rest of the post. She opened this one first due to the pretty patterns on the envelope making it the one that was least likely to be a bill. Inside the envelope was a cream coloured piece of stiff card with curly black writing on it. It was an invite to John and Mary's wedding. Weddings weren't really her thing but she decided that she had to go. Jemima replied to it later that day by ringing John. She chatted to him for a while and he seemed much happier than he had been a few months ago when she had last seen him. She told him she was excited to come and he seemed very pleased. He shouted to Mary that Jemima was coming to the wedding and she grabbed the phone from John and they talked for a while. She was laughing when she finally hung up and she decided to go shopping for an outfit later that day.


	3. A Beautiful Wedding

The wedding day came and Jemima and the other guests were waiting outside the church for everything to start. There was a gentle breeze about and there were birds chirping in the topmost branches of the trees. It was a beautiful spring day, perfect for a wedding. Jemima was wearing a halter neck deep blue dress. The skirt was mid-length and fluttered gently in the breeze. She had a headscarf to match that pushed back her golden brown, shoulder-length curls. She wasn't a hat person. She pushed up her jet-black, rectangular frame glasses further up her small, freckled nose as she saw a car pull up outside the churchyard gates. Everyone cheered as John got out and they were then let into the church to wait for the bride.

Inside, it was adorned with bouquets of flowers in delicate colours. The light streaming through the stained-glass windows made rippling patterns on the ground. Jemima found herself sitting next to a woman in a pretty yellow dress. She introduced herself as Molly Hooper and they chatted while they waited for Mary. It wasn't long before the organ music started and everyone flew round in their seats to catch a glimpse of the bride. Jemima was smiling as she saw John's face light up at the sight of her. The whole church radiated with happiness. 

That was when she spotted him. A tall, dark-haired man standing with John. He was smiling at John, obviously happy for him, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes that revealed his true feelings. Something about those piercing eyes reminded her of something that she couldn't quite place. She recognised him, but couldn't think how. She supposed that she might get the chance to talk to him later and was turning her attention back to the ceremony when she realised with embarrassment that she had been staring unblinkingly at the man the whole time. Thankfully, he hadn't looked at her so she assumed that he hadn't noticed. But she was wrong. He had. He was smiling until John turned to him and whispered into his ear.

"She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He said, slightly breathless. Sherlock looked at the floor sadly and sighed. Today was the day that he was probably going to lose his best friend, and he really didn't want that to happen. Instead of thinking about John, and making himself sadder, he decided to think about the girl in the blue dress that had been staring at him. He knew that she thought he hadn't seen her, but he also knew that she was very wrong. He smiled to himself as he thought over the moment where, just for a second, he'd caught her looking. At least somebody found him interesting, he thought, soon, not even John would have time for him.


	4. Jones, Meet Holmes

Jemima hated dancing, she always had, but that was only due to the fact that she had two left feet and didn't have the patience to concentrate on it so as to improve her skills. When she tried to copy the moves of other people, she just ended up looking like a prat, or ended up flat on her face on the floor, or both, as had happened on some occasions. She decided to sneak out of the wedding early to avoid being sucked onto the dancefloor and forced to endanger not only herself, but everyone around her. Social situations always made her uncomfortable, she always ended up in the corner, not wanting to speak to anybody and feeling very out of place. 

It was a warm spring night, and she could still hear a few crickets humming in the flowers. She was sitting with her back against a tree just outside the party, deciding whether to go back inside or just leave. She didn't want John to notice, she didn't want to upset him. Sherlock walked past and saw her sitting there. He was about to continue walking without a second glance but then he realised that it was the girl he had caught staring at him earlier. Curiosity got the better of him and he walked over to her, shrugging on his coat.

"Hello." He said. "Did you leave early too?"

"Yes, I left while everyone was dancing, I can't dance without falling over. I hate it." Jemima replied. "Why did you leave? You're the best man."

"Nobody needed me." he said sadly, sliding down onto the floor beside Jemima.

"Who are you?" She asked him.

"Sherlock Holmes." he replied.

Jemima gasped slightly. "But... you.... Am I seeing ghosts now?"

"No ghosts. I faked it all." Sherlock told her. "Who are you then? You were at the top of the room. You must be important."

"I'm Jemima Jones." she replied.

"What's your full name?"

"Jemima Beatrice Felicity Jones."

"That's a mouthful." He smirked.

"What's yours then?"

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes."

"That's worse." she said. They both laughed. Suddenly Sherlock looked quite sad. "What's the matter with you?" Jemima asked him.

"Umm... It's just... John is the only person I tend to laugh with. I'm worried he won't want me around anymore."

"I'm sure he will." She replied. He studied her carefully, picking out every piece of information he could.  
Military, Shortsighted, Keen Reader, Intelligent, Introvert, Undiagnosed PTSD

"How would you know that?" He asked her. 

"I worked with him in the army. He was there when a bomb nearly blew off my legs and he saved my life."

"He's saved a lot of people."

"I know."

Sherlock sighed and stood up. "See you around, Jemima Jones."


	5. Moving Day

Jemima staggered sleepily downstairs in her slippers as she heard the familiar clank of a letter being pushed through the letterbox. She recognised the handwriting of her landlord on the front of the envelope and scooped it up curiously. Whatever it was, it probably wouldn't be good news. She tore it open and pulled out the letter. It notified her that due to unforeseen circumstances, her rent was going to rise; to a price she couldn't afford. She was going to have to find somewhere else to go. Fortunately, she knew just the person to talk to.

Later that day, Jemima picked up the phone and dialed the number of 221B Baker Street.

"Hello?" Came Mrs Hudson's voice from the other end of the line.

"Hi Mrs Hudson, it's Jemima, from the wedding. You mentioned having a vacancy at 221C Baker Street and I'm soon going to be left without a place. I was wondering if I could come and have a look a the flat?"

"Oh I'm sure that would be fine my love! I can't get anyone interested in it so you won't have much competition! I'll make a special effort to make it nice for you. When do you want to see it?"

"As soon as I can."

"I'm almost always in, pop round whenever you like my love." She told Jemima cheerfully.

"Brilliant, thank you!"

\---------------------

Jemima moved into 221C soon after that. It was dingy and dark, and smelled faintly of damp, but Mrs Hudson really had spruced it up for her. There was fresh paint on the walls and the previously grubby floorboards had been scrubbed to within an inch of their life. The flat was affordable, and it suited her fine, so she decided to take it. 

She trudged in with the last of her suitcases and began the mammoth task of unpacking. She was busy filling up her wardrobe when she heard somebody running down the stairs.

"Off out Mrs Hudson, don't know when I'll be back." said a deep voice that she faintly recognised. Sherlock had never told Jemima that he lived in 221B at their first meeting, so she was surprised to hear that her brand new neighbour had been the best man at her friend's wedding. She peeped round the door and nearly crashed into him.

"Hello." She mumbled.

"You didn't tell me I was getting a new neighbour." Sherlock said to Mrs Hudson.

"Jemima?" John stared at his friend from across the hall.

"Oh, hello John." She replied, her eyebrows raised in surprise. 

"Why are you here?" He asked.

"My rent went up and I couldn't afford it, I was talking to Mrs Hudson at the wedding and she told me how difficult it was to find someone to stay in 221C so I said I'd take it." Jemima explained briefly.

"Well, it's a bit of a surprise to see you here, I have to admit, but at least we can see more of you now." He joked. "Anyway, we'd better go, Lestrade's still waiting for us. I hope you like the flat!" John walked off, assuming Sherlock would follow. Mrs Hudson retreated into her kitchen.

"Hello again Miss Jones." Sherlock smirked at Jemima. She smiled back knowingly as Sherlock quickly followed John outside and shut the door behind him. Jemima smiled to herself and went back inside to carry on unpacking her belongings.


	6. Getting to Know You

"This is the only way you'll ever get to know him. He's used to me dragging people in. He can be nice sometimes, bear with him a while and he might smile at you one day." John laughed, leading Jemima into 221B. 

"John!" Jemima frowned "He's sitting right there!"

"Don't worry, he's never listening."

"Oh I am you know." Sherlock said from the other side of the room, not even bothering to look at them. "I just don't bother to say anything. As long as you still think I'm pleasant enough to be your friend I'm fine."

"That's cute." Jemima smiled to herself.

"But you don't have friends though, do you?" Sherlock burst out suddenly, turning to look at Jemima.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed.

"It's fine, he's right anyway. I don't have many friends. I've only got one." She replied, smiling sheepishly at John. 

Sherlock's eyes widened. He paused for a second before asking, "Do you read John's blog?"

"No. I didn't even know that John had a blog. Why?" Jemima replied.

"Well, let's just say," Sherlock tented his fingers under his chin. "That's not the first time that has been said about John."

"Well then." Jemima smirked at Sherlock. "It seems we're not so different after all."

Sherlock to his surprise, felt his cheeks redden. He turned away to prevent her seeing and quickly went back to work at his microscope, ignoring them both. 

"So you've got a case then." Jemima observed, studying the packed evidence wall. 

"Hmmm." Sherlock replied, trying not to let her make him blush again. 

"John told me all about your job and what you two do together. It's all fascinating, I love it." She told him, walking over to the evidence wall and taking a closer look at the case notes that were affixed to the wall with a large penknife. 

"You do?" He looked up, surprised. 

"Yeah. I always liked the idea of being a criminal psychologist but this is much more fun." She grinned. 

Sherlock found himself grinning back, but he snapped his head back to the microscope before she could see.

"Hmmm. It's a bit tricky, isn't it?" She observed, looking over the clues on the wall. She gestured to a note on the wall. "Have you considered the gardener? You might want to look into his use of pesticides." 

Sherlock stared at her, his eyes wide. 

"Of course." He mumbled to himself, annoyed that she'd figured it out before him.

"Sometimes all you need is a fresh pair of eyes to work out the problem." She smiled at him nonchalantly. "You're welcome, by the way." 

She walked back out of the flat and made her way downstairs. As soon as she was out of earshot Sherlock slapped himself on the forehead in his frustration. 

"I was stupid John! Totally blind! How did I not see it before?" He exclaimed, flouncing around the room. "And, more importantly, how did she get it before I did?" 

"I think you're working yourself up a bit too much." John told his flustered friend in an attempt to calm him. 

Sherlock perched on his armchair, still twitchy and unable to sit still. 

"Like she said, it's just a fresh pair of eyes." John told him calmly. 

"It's more than that." Sherlock shook his head, deep in thought. "She's more intelligent than I assumed."


	7. The Case of The Pissy Note

Jemima woke up to the sound of an argument. She couldn't hear what was being said but she recognised the muffled tones as Sherlock and John. She heard Mrs Hudson rush upstairs, then quickly back down again, she was muttering something about a 'domestic'.

Jemima had been in Baker Street a month now and had got to know Sherlock a little bit but she was still surprised to find him standing in her doorway a few hours after his 'domestic'.

"Hi! Didn't expect to see you here!" She said cheerfully.

"I live here." He replied bluntly.

"Yes but, you never come to see me."

"Why would I? I'm always busy with cases."

"Ok, why are you here now then?" She asked, a bit put out.

"I need your help. Um... Would you like to... Um...Solve crimes with me?" He asked tentatively, stuttering on his words. 

"Definitely." She replied. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. A rejection would have just been awkward.

\-----------------------------------

"Who's that?" Sally Donovan questioned, looking Jemima up and down.

"She's with me. It's fine." Sherlock replied, ducking under the police tape.

"You can't expect me to let you in every time you want to drag a stranger onto a crime scene, freak." Sally said to Sherlock's back as he was walking away. Jemima saw him roll his eyes. She giggled.

The pair walked swiftly to the crime scene. A man was hanging from a rope by his neck, blue faced, glassy eyed and very, very, dead. Another man, very much alive, walked over from the other side of the room as he saw Sherlock walk in.

"Hello! Who are you?" Lestrade addressed Jemima first.

"Lestrade, this is Jemima, she moved into 221C a month ago. Jemima this is Lestrade, he says he's a detective, I'm not sure I totally believe him. I've been working with him on cases for years." Sherlock said, taking the trouble of introducing everyone.

"Greg." Lestrade extended his hand "Nice to meet you Jemima."

"Good to meet you too." She replied, shaking his outstretched hand.

"Where's John?" Lestrade asked Sherlock.

"Hmm..?" Sherlock said, not looking away from the body. "Oh, um.. Well we had a bit of a disagreement. "

"Ah ok, I see."

"Was there a note?" Jemima asked suddenly.

"What?" Sherlock looked confused.

"Well it looks like a suicide. It obviously isn't one because there isn't any bruising on his neck but if it was supposed to look like a suicide then there should be a note." Jemima explained briefly.

"Actually, come to think of it, there was a note." Lestrade walked over to a table full of various bits of evidence and collected a slightly crumpled piece of paper covered in sloppy handwriting. Jemima took the piece of paper and looked it over quickly.

"It wasn't written by the victim. The victim was right handed, the writer was left handed. The victim has chewed nails on his right hand but his left ones are untouched. You tend to bite the nails on the hand you use the most so he's probably right handed. The author for the letter is obviously left handed though. He's smudged the writing across the page because he's writing with his left hand and smudging everything he's already written." Jemima explained. Suddenly, she gave a confused look and sniffed the page. She flipped it over and sniffed again. "I think he's used his piss as invisible ink!"

"Oh come on!" Sherlock laughed in disbelief, knowing it was all true but not wanting to let on, he didn't want to people to know that she'd beaten him to it.

"The Romans used to do it with their spies. You heat it up and it reveals a message. Anyway, just a bit of the piss itself can lead you straight to him. I'll leave it with you." Jemima said, handing Lestrade the note. He took it gingerly, at arm's length.

"Well that seems to be it then." Sherlock said awkwardly, leading Jemima out the door. He didn't speak to her again until they were both in a taxi.

"How did you do that?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know, I sort of just, did." She replied.

"I've never met another person who can do that."

"Well don't get your hopes up if we do this again. It was sort of a fluke to be honest." She confessed.

"You'd do this again?"

"Yeah! It's been, fun."


	8. A Christmas Domestic

Jemima had been helping out on cases for months now. The guys at Scotland Yard had started calling her 'Puddleduck', even Lestrade. Even though she had beaten him to it on the first case, Sherlock liked having Jemima to help him. He had John as well, obviously, but he wasn't available as much anymore.

It was Christmas day in London, the snow was falling heavily and one murderer was running for his only chance at freedom. Sherlock and Jemima were chasing after him through the quiet streets. The sound of their pounding feet seemed much louder than usual. They were quickly making up ground and the wanted man would soon be behind bars where he belonged. 

Suddenly, Jemima tripped and fell on her arm with a loud gasp. The noise made Sherlock turn and look but just as he made to start running again, the criminal they were chasing hopped over all a wall and disappeared. A few seconds delay, and they'd already lost him.

"Damn it Jemima!" Sherlock shouted grumpily. "We could have got him!"

"I'm sorry." She replied pitifully, holding back tears of pain and shock as she nursed her injured wrist.

Sherlock huffed and stormed off through the thick snow. Angrily kicking the piles of fluffy ice at the side of the street as he went.

"Where are you going?" She shouted after him, a few tears escaping and rolling down her face.

"Back to Baker Street." He growled at her, not even bothering to look back.

\-------------------------------

John and Mary were both at Baker Street when Jemima got back. They had come for Christmas but had been left with Mrs Hudson when one of Sherlock's homeless network had spotted a man wanted for murder on the snowy streets.

"Where's Sherlock?" Jemima asked John when she walked in.

"Locked himself in his room." John replied. "I thought I heard him kicking things so I left him alone. What happened to you?"

"I tripped and fell on the snow and the killer got away. It's my fault he escaped and now Sherlock is angry with me." Jemima replied. Eyes still slightly puffy, only partly due to the cold weather.

"Let me have a look at your wrist." Jemima held it out to him gingerly. It was red and swollen already. Jemima winced as John carefully turned it over to examine the other side. "Looks like a sprain to me."

He stood up and walked over to the cupboard which he knew had a first aid kit in it. He pulled out some bandages from the small, green box and tossed them to Mary, who immediately began bandaging Jemima's wrist.

"I'm going to go and talk to him." John gestured towards Sherlock's bedroom door. Mary nodded back.

John knocked on the door sharply.

"What." Came the simple reply from within.

"Jemima just got back." John said. Before he could continue, however, Sherlock interrupted him.

"Good. I have some things to tell her." He marched out of the bedroom and into the living room. Jemima was still having her wrist bandaged and Mary was securing the final pieces.

"Thanks." Jemima smiled at Mary before noticing Sherlock standing angrily above her.

"We could have caught him." Sherlock said, glaring at her.

"Yes we could've." Jemima replied, matching his stare.

"Yes, but you had to trip up at the crucial moment and mess everything up."

"Well everyone makes mistakes Sherlock! You seem to like pretending that you're perfect and that you never make mistakes but you do. Like everyone else, you make mistakes too. I actually hurt myself, if you didn't notice already. You don't seem to care one bit! I help you. Every day, I help you to solve crimes and you don't ever thank me, you don't ever seen to care about me at all! You seem totally heartless! I put up with you not showing any gratitude because I like to help you. But this time you crossed the line. And you know what, Sherlock Holmes. I've had totally enough! I make one tiny mistake,I have one accident, and you go mental! I've had bloody enough. You're a heartless bastard and I'm not going to help you anymore!" Jemima screamed at him. She stormed out, hands clenched into fists and slammed the door as hard as she possibly could behind her. She marched right out of the front door and into the street. Snow was gently drifting around her as she slumped down onto the front step and lent back against the door, crying angrily. She started to shiver as she wrapped her arms around herself, tears freezing to her face.

A few minutes later, Jemima was shivering and her face was red and raw from crying. She was just recovering from her anger when the door softly opened behind her.

"I knew you'd be out here." Sherlock said from behind her.

"Of course you did you twat, because you know everything." Jemima spat bitterly. "Did John make you come out to apologise?"

"No actually. I came out because I wanted to, not because I was forced. I wanted to say sorry. I ummm...take you forgranted too often." He said, shuffling awkwardly on his feet. Jemima turned to face him. Her teeth were chattering now. Somehow she knew that he was being sincere. She was shocked. You didn't hear Sherlock making a sincere apology that often. But today he meant it. Sherlock Holmes was properly sorry.

"And..." He continued, "I do care about you..." He took a deep breath "I like you a lot." He picked Jemima up from the step and pulled her into a hug.

"You're cold." He stated plainly.

"No shit." She mumbled into his shoulder, her teeth still chattering slightly. He laughed a little.

"I care about you too." She said quietly, after a pause.

"In what way?" He asked.

"Probably not the way you care about me." Was her only clue.

"I'm serious, tell me." Sherlock said, his eyes widened.

"You first." She said, smirking.

"This isn't primary school." He said, slightly frustrated.

"I know." She replied in a soft voice. "You first."

"Uhh...I...I mean... Um..."He stuttered, the words catching in his throat. "I don't really know how to say it."

"Find a way." Said Jemima quietly, looking into his eyes.

As Sherlock looked down at Jemima's bright red, puffy yet extremely pretty face, he finally knew how to tell her. He leaned in and kissed her gently, his hands softly cupped her face and his fingers traced along her cheekbones as thier lips met. The snow drifted down around them and crunched under their feet, small flakes found their way into their hair. When Sherlock pulled away Jemima could still feel her lips tingling. She looked into Sherlock's nervous face, waiting anxiously for her response, she couldn't help but smile. She watched his face flood with relief and his hand brushed hers as they made to walk back inside. She grabbed it and they walked back into Baker Street with their fingers interwoven. As she looked up into his face, her heart beat a little faster. She felt his fingers adjust themselves slightly and move up to her good wrist. She just knew he was taking her pulse.


	9. Texting and Unicorns

"Just to let you know, I'm off out now, so if you shout to me asking for a pen or something, I won't answer. Bye!" Jemima said quickly, popping her head around the door of 221B. Sherlock noted how pretty she looked, all dressed up in a blue spotty dress. The dark blue spots complemented the light blue background. The shape of the dress only enhanced Jemima's already tiny waist and the hem of the fluffy skirt fell to just above her knee, showing off most of her short but slender legs. Her brown curls looked gorgeous, the two front sections of hair had been braided and pinned at the back of her head with a blue bow. Her tiny feet were drifted into uncomfortable-looking blue high heels. Everything was blue. It all matched, even Jemima's expression. She was on her way to Scotland Yard's new years party. It was everything she despised, awkward social encounters, dancing and badly-chosen music. Even Anderson would be there. He'd managed to get his job back by some sort of miracle and was now working in his previous position in the forensics division. She also had to put up with Sally Donovan, who seemed to hate her guts for some unknown reason. Maybe it was because she was friends with Sherlock. More likely because of an hilarious incident a couple of weeks back where Jemima ended up making Sally look like a twat in front of all her colleagues. She'd only done it because she called Sherlock a freak. She remembered him smiling fondly at her as she gave Sally what she deserved. He'd seemed surprised that she'd done it, Jemima wondered if anyone else ever stood up for Sherlock like that. John might, but he tends to keep quiet, assuming that Sherlock can deal with it himself.

Sherlock didn't even look up as Jemima disappeared from around the doorframe but he couldn't help but smirk slightly to himself. He'd politely declined his invitation, he had to work with those morons all day, he didn't want to spend his evening with them too. 

Jemima walked into the party, said hi to Lestrade, got herself a drink and put herself in her usual post against the wall next to the food buffet, trying her best to look unapproachable. She watched everyone else having a good time. At one point she saw Sally with a bunch of her bitchy coworkers, she would look at Jemima, say something in hushed tones to her friends, then the whole group would look at Jemima and then they'd all laugh or nod in agreement. It reminded her of primary school. After 20 minutes of total boredom, she got out her phone to text Sherlock.

It feels like I'm looking at the exhibits in a zoo. - JJ

Within seconds, Sherlock had replied.

Having a good time I see. - SH

That text was practically dripping with sarcasm. I can hear your laughter from here. - JJ

John says hi by the way. - SH

I THOUGHT HE WAS ILL - JJ

He had a miraculous recovery. - SH

Arse. - JJ

I told you to decline the invite. It's your own fault. - SH

Thanks for reminding me. I didn't want to offend Lestrade. - JJ

You're too polite for your own good. - SH

Oh bugger, here come the fuzz. There's an Anderson at 12 O'Clock. - JJ

Enjoy. - SH

I hate you. - JJ

No you don't. - SH

Jemima sighed and picked up her drink again. She couldn't possibly stand this any more. Her phone buzzed again.

You took too long to reply. That means I'm right. - SH

Is it possible to die of boredom? - JJ

No. - SH

Oh shit, that was my only way out. Now my only hope is a knight in shining armour to come and rescue me on a unicorn. - JJ

Sherlock didn't reply. Great, now she had no distraction from boredom at all. She shuffled over to the buffet and grabbed a plate of mostly unhealthy food. Food would be her only friend from here on in. That is, until Sherlock quietly hopped in through the fire exit next to her and pulled her outside.

"What are you doing?" She said in hushed tones, wobbling slightly in her high heels.

"I'm your knight, I've come to save you. Sorry about the unicorn, it was eaten by an angry ogre, we'll just have to get a cab." Sherlock replied, smirking.

"You didn't have to come to this horrendous pace of social torture on my behalf." Jemima said.

"Of course I did. And umm... I didn't get the chance to tell you... You look lovely tonight." He replied. Jemima was vaguely aware that Sherlock still hadn't let go of her hand since he pulled her out.

"Really?" She said, looking up into Sherlock's mesmerising eyes. She could get lost in them, they were like whirlpools, like an exotic sea, a perfect mix of blue and green. Just his presence, him standing in front of her, his fingers entwined with hers,was intoxicating. 

"Definitely." He said, and leaned in to kiss her for the second time ever. This kiss was more passionate than the last. Jemima ran her hands through Sherlock's soft, black, glossy curls. He dropped her hand and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him. When he finally pulled away, Jemima let her arms flop around his neck and smiled up at him.

"That was the first kiss since Christmas." Jemima said.

"I wanted to, I just never found the right time." He replied.

"I don't care what time. We should do it more often." Jemima smirked.

"Does this mean we need to tell John, you know, if we're going to be a thing."

"Probably. Let's get a cab."

\-----------------------------

Sherlock sat slightly apart from her in the cab. He was nervously twiddling his thumbs, unsure of what to do. 

"I don't bite you know." She told him quietly. She saw his smile out of the corner of her eye. 

Before she knew it, her hand was in Sherlock's and he interlocked his fingers with hers. When she looked up, he was staring out of the window, not daring to look round. His delicate fingers were slightly shaky, showing his nerves. She gave his hand a slight squeeze for reassurance and she saw his smile in the reflection on the window.


	10. Let's Have Dinner

Come upstairs, there's something I want to ask you - SH

Jemima grinned at the text lighting up her phone screen. She was sitting at her computer, doing a whole lot of nothing, and was wondering what sort of case Sherlock needed her assistance with this time. 

New case? - JJ

Not quite - SH

Jemima frowned at her reply, bemused. What else could his query be about? Sherlock never really tried to get her attention unless it was for a case. The kissing was an exciting development, but after the moment had passed, Sherlock would act almost as if it had never happened. Sherlock, who was sitting upstairs in 221B, began to grow impatient and texted her again.

Now - SH 

Fine - JJ

Jemima made her way upstairs and pushed through the door into 221B. It was beginning to smell like home to her after the few months she'd been living there. She welcomed the gentle scent of tobacco that still lingered around the flat, mixed with various sharp chemical smells from Sherlock's concoctions. The man himself was sitting casually in his armchair with his fingers tented in front of his face and he still had his phone pressed between his palms. 

"You wanted to see me?" She asked tentatively, not wanting to disturb an important trail of thought. 

"Yes." He replied, his eyes immediately snapping open. He leapt gracefully from the armchair and covered the room in three long strides, stopping when he was face to face with her. As he looked down into her face, a few twinges of nerves nagged at him and the confidence he'd previously exuded was beginning to fade. 

"What's going on?" She asked him with a slight frown. 

"Um. Well, I'm not usually very good at this kind of thing, actually, I've never done this before." He took a deep breath to steady himself. "I want to ask you...on a date." He said, his voice unsteady and slow. 

Jemima just blinked at him, shocked at his request. In truth, it had been a while since the last kiss and she was beginning to wonder if he had truly meant it. Now she had her answer. 

"I...I mean... I know you probably won't want to. But I just thought I'd ask. I was expecting you to say no anyway so it doesn't really matter." He backtracked, words falling from his mouth uncontrollably as he tried to process his thoughts. 

"Yes." She smiled. 

"What?" He replied, bemused.

"Of course I'll go on a date with you. Where were you suggesting? Not a crime scene I hope." She said. 

"You will?" Sherlock asked, pleasantly shocked. 

"Of course. That's what I said, didn't I? Where are we going?" She asked again. 

"I was thinking Angelo's. It's a nice little restaurant. It isn't too far away, I know the owner." He explained. 

"You? A restaurant?" She laughed. 

"Yes, a restaurant. What's funny about that?" He said, looking almost downcast. 

"It's just, I wasn't expecting any of this." She said, waving her arms as if to indicate the whole situation. 

"Neither was I." Sherlock confessed sheepishly. "My feelings for you weren't a deduction that I was expecting."

"Let's make the most of it then." She smiled at him, grabbing his coat and scarf from the coat stand and thrusting them towards him.

They made their way down the 17 steps to the front door in silence. Sherlock seemed almost terrified. Jemima could tell he just wanted to get everything right for her. He had a strong fear of rejection that she hadn't noticed nor anticipated. Her fingers soon found themselves wrapped in his as they walked out into the pavement. Angelo's was in walking distance, and they still hadn't broken their hold on each other until they got to the small restaurant. 

"Sherlock! Good to see you!" Angelo greeted him cheerfully as they entered. He walked towards them with outstretched arms and shook Sherlock's hand so enthusiastically it was almost violent. "I'll get a table for you and your friend. Anything you want on the house as usual." 

"Actually Angelo, this is my date." He said. He still wasn't quite used to the term, but he cracked a small smile as he said it. 

Angelo laughed as if it was the funniest thing he'd heard all week. When Sherlock gave him a look, Angelo realised he was being serious and quickly seated them at Sherlock's favourite window table. He was soon back with the menus and a candle for the table. The couple placed their orders within a few minutes. He winked at Sherlock and sloped off back into the kitchens. 

"He's totally ridiculous." Sherlock sighed at his back. 

"I think he's hilarious. Didn't you get him off a murder charge? That's what John told me anyway." She said.

"Yeah I did." Sherlock replied. He was still twitchy, his nerves causing him to jiggle his leg up and down under the table. 

Jemima slipped a hand under the table and rested it on his leg to still it. Sherlock gave a sharp intake of breath at her unexpected contact. 

"You don't need to be nervous around me." She told him gently. "I know you don't do this often but, well, neither do I. It's just as new to me as it is to you so let's just enjoy our time." 

He nodded in agreement before asking, "So you don't date then?"

"No, not really. I'm not quite the dating type. Well, nobody ever wants to ask me." She admitted.

"Have you had many relationships?" He interrogated. 

She paused for a minute, unsure of what to tell him. 

"A few." She said cryptically. "And you?"

"One." He told her. She raised an eyebrow. "I know what you're thinking. No it wasn't John."

Jemima laughed out loud, watching as Sherlock blushed uncomfortably. It was at that moment that Angelo ran back with their food. 

\-------------------------------

"You didn't eat much." Jemima remarked as they left the restaurant, Angelo's glowing smile burning into their backs. 

"I don't eat enough. John's always told me that. Sometimes I forget." He told her, shoving his hands in his coat pockets as they made their way down the road. They were going for a rambling walk around London, that was Sherlock's idea of a good time. 

"You need to take care of yourself Sherlock. I worry about you sometimes." She told him with a concerned tone to her voice. As she said it, she snaked one of her arms around his, linking them together. Sherlock didn't say anything, but she could tell that he appreciated her closeness. He could still smell her usual rose perfume over the scent of wet pavement rising up from the ground. He was just taking this all in, when he realised that Jemima was shivering next to him.

"Are you cold?" He asked.

"Yeah." She confirmed, her freckled cheeks flushed red from the cold February air. 

Without another word, Sherlock stopped her in her tracks and drew the scarf from around his neck. He fixed it around her neck in a similar fashion, letting his long, slender fingers linger slightly too long just under her sharp jaw. Jemima shivered again, and not just from the cold. Sherlock felt the pulse beating fast in her neck and he started into her eyes. As if on command, her pupils dilated wide as they locked with his. He broke away suddenly and they kept walking. He smiled to himself knowingly. She really was attracted to him. 

"I have somewhere I want to take you." He told her as they walked. "I suppose it is quite cliche but I'm sure you'll appreciate it all the same." 

"Where are we going then?" She asked with a smile, snuggling into him a bit more for added warmth. 

Sherlock was taken aback by her closeness and stiffened up slightly. Jemima noticed the subtle hint and pulled back a bit. 

"Sorry." She mumbled. 

"It's fine, it's just, this is all new. Girlfriends aren't really my area." He stuttered slightly. 

"Hey, it's okay." She told him reassuringly. "We can take this slowly." 

He nodded at her gratefully. "We're nearly there."

Jemima gazed up and saw the London eye towering above them, Sherlock looked up at it with a smile. Jemima returned it and slid her hand into his. 

"It's been ages since I've been on it." Jemima told him excitedly. 

"It's one of my favourite places to go and think." Sherlock admitted. "There might be a lot of people, but the view makes up for it."

\------------------------------

Jemima grinned happily as they reached the summit, the pod slowly moving to its peak. 

"This is incredible at night." She whispered breathlessly. Sherlock could even feel her happiness through her fingers as she interlaced them with his. In that moment, it could have just been them. Just the two of them, on top of the world. 

"Look, that's St Paul's there." Sherlock pointed, whispering close to Jemima's ear. She shivered at the sound of his deep baritone, and at the feeling of his inky black curls brushing the side of her face. 

"There's Baker Street, those lights just there." He pointed out. His closeness almost became too much for Jemima. His hand in hers, his hair on her face, his breath hot on her ear, his voice rumbling right into her toes. 

She looked up, and suddenly their faces were only inches from each other. She looked deep into the piercing blue eyes that were studying her face intently. He was breathing more heavily than usual and she could see the pulse jumping in his neck. She stared at his lips, perfectly sculpted and hanging slightly open. He slowly lifted a delicate hand to her face, letting his long fingers trace her cheekbone before pulling her even closer. They were pressed together now and Jemima was enveloped in the folds of Sherlock's famous coat. She could feel his shirt shifting against her as he breathed. A small smile played on her lips as she looked up at him, and this appeared to be the sign he was waiting for.

He pulled her into a kiss, letting his silky soft lips brush hers. He was gentle at first, taking it slowly and carefully, but he soon began to press his lips more firmly to Jemima's as she melted into his embrace. He wrapped his free arm around her back, pulling her tight into his chest. She put a hand on his torso to steady herself, and his heart pounded beneath her fingers. They got lost in each other, forgetting about the lights twinkling beneath them, stretching out for miles in every direction. For them, the only view thy needed was each other. 

\-------------------------

They were soon back at Baker Street, the memory of the London Eye still replaying in their minds. Jemima hung up her coat, still smiling to herself. Sherlock began to pace around the flat as if he was looking for something. Jemima stared with a confused expression, wondering what the hell he was doing. He soon found what he was looking for and set it on the table. 

It was a small speaker, and he quickly plugged it in, causing it to emit classical music in every direction. He walked over to her gracefully and held out his hand, inviting her to join him. 

"You know I hate dancing." Jemima laughed. "I can't dance to save my life." 

"You only hate dancing because you don't know how. Let me teach you. You'll enjoy it, I promise." Sherlock told her with conviction, still holding out his hand. 

Jemima sighed and took his hand with some reluctance. Sherlock gently pulled her towards him and rested a hand on her waist. He began to lead the dance, stepping perfectly in time to the music. Jemima was awkward, stepping out of time and failing to relax, standing stiffly in Sherlock's arms. 

"You're concentrating too hard." He whispered into her ear gently. "Just step when I do. Relax and let yourself go."

Slowly but surely Jemima fell into step with Sherlock. Wherever he lead, she would follow. She wasn't good by any means, but at least she wasn't stepping on his toes anymore. She looked up into her partner's face. He had his eyes closed, letting the music drift around him. He was smiling too, Jemima knew how much he loved dancing, and wondered how long it had been since he'd had a proper partner. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open and he caught her staring. He gave her a playful grin before reaching his arm up and spinning her around. She was taken aback and nearly fell over, but he deftly caught her with one arm before she could hurt herself. Carefully, he stopped moving and dipped her backwards, before leaning down to kiss her gently.

As she straightened back up she deepened the kiss, tangling one of her hands in his curls. They both soon forgot about dancing, and neither of them seemed to notice when the music stopped. Sherlock pressed into her hungrily, finally letting his nerves slip away. Their kiss became more frenzied, more desperate than any they'd shared before. It wasn't long before Sherlock scooped Jemima up in his arms effortlessly.

He carried her swiftly to his bedroom without breaking the kiss and laid her down on his bed. He straddled her, pinning her down and she writhed playfully under his grip. She broke away from the kiss to take him in. He was hovering over her, breathing hard in anticipation of what was to come. He was a picture of lust, his lips slightly parted, still bright red from the kiss. His eyes were shining, pupils dilated. She eyed him from head to toe, taking in the perfectly tailored jacket, the slightly too-tight shirt with its buttons straining as he bent over her. Her eyes drifted down to his tight trousers and she could feel his smirk above her. When she looked up, she could see the sexy grin playing on his lips. 

\----------------------------

"That was fantastic." Jemima said breathlessly, running a hand through her messy curls as she lay back on Sherlock's bed. 

"Mmmm." Sherlock affirmed wordlessly, still not quite trusting himself to speak. 

"I'm surprised Mrs Hudson didn't hear us." Jemima laughed huskily, shuffling over into Sherlock's welcoming arms.

"I'm sure she did." Sherlock smirked. Jemima swore his voice had dropped at least two octaves. "I didn't anticipate that you'd be so... appreciative." 

"Maybe you were just that good." Jemima flirted, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. He laughed quietly in response. 

"Tired?" He asked, still in a slight haze. 

"Mmm." She replied, resting her head on his chest. She could hear his steady heartbeat as he held her close in his arms. 

Sherlock turned so her could rest his chin on the top of her head, he could feel her breath on his chest and he sighed contentedly. He was the happiest he'd been in a long while. As she drifted off into sleep, Sherlock reached an arm down to find hers, which was lazily draped over his stomach. He took up her wrist in his hand gently, adjusting his fingers so he could feel her pulse calming as she slipped into sleep.


	11. The Reveal

"So. How are we going to do it?" Jemima asked. She was lying on her back on the sofa in 221B with her legs dangling over the armrest.

"Hmm?" Sherlock looked up, snapping out of his mind palace. "Do what?"

"Tell John about... Well... Us." She replied.

"Have you got any ideas?" He asked.

"You're meant to be the clever one." She retorted.

"I am the clever one. Just not when it comes to people."

"I thought maybe you could do it. It would seem more real coming from you." She said.

"Fine. But how?"

"Snog me in front of him. I dare you."

"How much will you give me if I do it."

"Maybe... If you're lucky... Another kiss." She said, raising an eyebrow seductively at him. He sighed at her.

"Okay, a tenner." She offered.

"Fifteen."

"Done."

It was at that moment that John walked in. Perfect timing.

"Hi!" Jemima said chirpily, waving from her position upsidedown on the sofa. John have her a strange look and rolled his eyes but said nothing. He was used to it by now, she seemed to share Sherlock's blatant disregard for furniture. 

"Hello John." Sherlock said. He looked a little tense.

"You ok Sherlock?" John asked with a concerned expression as he sat down in his armchair.

"Fine. I'm totally fine."

"Good. Have there been any new cases?"

"None. Still working on the one with that Albanian pilot. I think it might have been his sister. I need proof though, I need to be sure."

"Ok. I'll tell Lestrade when you've got all the evidence. Have you and Jemima been doing anything interesting?" John inquired.

"Not much."

"A few things..." Jemima interrupted, smirking at Sherlock.

"Ah yes... Those things." He grinned at Jemima, hopped out of his chair, walked over to her and kissed her right in front of John. When they broke apart, he was sat with an expression of pure surprise. His mouth was handing wide open. Sherlock and Jemima began to giggle nervously.

"So you're ummm...ok... Good." He said, struggling to find words.

"You look like you could do with a cup of tea." Jemima smiled at him.

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea." John said, staring at her wide-eyed.

Jemima giggled to herself as she walked out. John shuffled over to Sherlock, looking uncomfortable.

"Ummm... Sherlock?" John said.

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to ask, this isn't like Jeanine is it? It's just, she's a good friend of mine. I wouldn't want anyone to hurt her, or use her at all. Especially not my best friend. Are you totally sure about this?"

"John. I won't hurt her. I really do... like her. I haven't felt this way about anybody before. It's different this time."

"What about Irene Adler?"

"I didn't like her as much as Jemima. She intrigued me but I never wanted to be in a relationship with her."

"So. You're totally serious about her." John said, mostly to help himself understand it all.

"Yes." Sherlock replied.

"Sure?" John asked.

"Sure." Sherlock confirmed.

Just as Jemima bustled in with some tea, John's phone went off.

"It's Mary." He mouthed at them. "Yeah sure, I'll be right over." He said reluctantly and hung up.

"What did she want?" Jemima asked.

"The washing machine's gone bust. She says she needs my help with it. Sorry, I have to go." He quickly ran out, grabbing his coat on the way.

"So that went well." Jemima smiled.

"Fifteen, wasn't it?"

"Fine." She pressed some notes into his hand.


	12. Rain

Everyone now knew about Sherlock and Jemima being together. Lestrade's jaw almost hit the floor when they told him about it. Jemima now seemed to be spending most of her time in 221B instead of her own flat.

"It's raining." Sherlock stated plainly, staring out of the window holding his violin.

"Well observed." Jemima said sarcastically, not looking up from her laptop.

"I was going to take you somewhere but it's raining now." He said grumpily. He held up his violin and began playing Fur Elise, one of his favourites.

"Let's go anyway. Rain doesn't matter." Jemima replied over the delicately played music.

"Alright, but make sure you you take a coat. It's cold out there." He told her.

"You're turning into your mother you know.."

"I am not!" He said indignantly.

"You really are." Jemima raised an eyebrow at him and stood up. She walked over to their coats and threw Sherlock's over to him. She shrugged her own around her shoulders. It was a design similar to Sherlock's but baby blue instead of dark. It had a hood as well but she never used it as she also had a habit of wearing it with the collar turned up. She also grabbed her fluffy mustard yellow scarf from the peg and a matching bobble hat, which she pulled on over her golden brown curls. She wrapped the scarf loosely around her neck and made to leave.

"No! Don't wear it like that! It defeats the whole point of a scarf! Here, let me." Sherlock undid the scarf and tied it around her neck in the same style as his own. His nimble, thin fingers brushed Jemima's neck gently and she felt shivers go down her spine. His touch was delicate, with the precision of a skilled violinist. Sherlock gave her hair a quick stroke before taking her hand and leading her downstairs into the rain.

He quickly hailed a taxi and jumped into the back seat with Jemima. She was very confused and tried to work out where they might be going. Sherlock saw her face as she tried to make deductions, she kept screwing up her eyes trying to concentrate. She didn't realise she was doing it. Sherlock found it cute. After a few minutes they pulled up outside a small local park and he dragged her out of the car. They walked through the park's main gates after paying the driver. They started to walk along the wide, gravel path that wound its way through the park like a snake. They didn't stay on it for long though, Sherlock grabbed Jemima's hand and broke into a light jog, pulling her along across the wet grass. They sped through a clump of trees and bushes, going slightly uphill and laughing the whole time. They came out in a tiny clearing in the shrubbery. It provided them with shelter from the rain and was surprisingly cosy. Nobody else looking up would be able to see them but looking down Sherlock and Jemima could see everyone who walked past.

"I used to come up here all the time when I first moved here." Sherlock explained. "Whenever I needed to get away from anything, or to think about a difficult case, I would come up here. It's relaxing. Is like nothing can get to me as long as I'm here. And... I've never shown it to anybody before."

"I'm glad you showed it to me," Jemima said, sitting down in the clearing with him. "I love it."

She snuggled into Sherlock's arms, leaning her head on his shoulder as they watched the people walk past below them. He leant his back on the trunk of the tree behind him and sighed contentedly. He wrapped his arms around Jemima and held her close. The only sounds were the people in the park and the pattering rain hitting the leaves above them. They sat there for a long while, both comfortable in each other's warm embrace until Sherlock shuffled round slightly to look straight at Jemima. She stared back at him and tilted her head to one side as if to say "What is it?" In answer, Sherlock held up a hand and stroked her cheek gently.

"You're so beautiful." He said quietly. He didn't know where his words were coming from. He'd never dreamed of saying that to anybody until now.

Jemima smiled and kissed him. He kissed her back and she wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling them even closer. They kissed for a long time before they finally decided to leave. It was pouring with rain and there were no taxis in sight. They had been there so long that the stars were starting to twinkle above them, struggling to break through the daylight, and the street lamps were glowing deep orange in the last rays of sun. They had to walk all the way back to Baker Street. It wasn't far but when they burst through the door to 221B they were completely soaked and shivering with cold. Mrs Hudson came out into the hallway and saw them trudging up the stairs. She smiled at their backs and retreated back into her kitchen.

Sherlock and Jemima walked into 221B and within minutes, were out of their wet clothes. They ended up kissing on Sherlock's bed. He was pinning her down by her arms but was surprisingly gentle. She struggled playfully as he restrained her, peppering rough kisses along her neck. She did the same to him, reaching up and gently nibbling at his neck, making him close his eyes and sigh softly with pleasure. They were both going to wake up with bruises in the morning, he thought. He began to kiss her hungrily on the lips, pressing himself up against her. He slid a hand down her thigh, teasing her. She pressed closer to him as he did it, egging him on. He kissed her harder and she moaned at his touch. 

\-----------------------------

The couple lay together in bed, thoroughly exhausted and entwined with each other. Sherlock glanced down at Jemima's legs. He had known she had scars before he saw them but he had still been caught somewhat off-guard. He couldn't help but stare. They snaked up and down the full length of both of her legs but Sherlock wasn't put off, he instead thought about what she must have been through to survive the bomb that nearly left her with no legs at all. She caught him looking and smiled sadly.

"I didn't think you'd be interested in my scars. You have enough of your own." She touched a gentle finger to the scar from the bullet wound that had ripped through his chest. That was all Mary's fault. He remembered that night. Trying desparately to save John's marriage while in terrible pain. He remembered the look on John's face while he was being surrounded by the paramedics in the flat. Jemima saw his face fall.

"I'm sorry. " she said.

"It's alright." He replied. He brought her under the bedcovers and they lay there, facing each other. They gripped each other tight and stayed like that until they fell asleep.

Sherlock was awoken in the middle of the night by Jemima writhing in her sleep. She was mumbling things and sounded distressed. Sherlock quickly shook her out of her nightmare. She sat up, breathing heavily. She tried to tell Sherlock about it but couldn't get much out. The only things Sherlock could make out were 'army' and 'explosion'. She was trying her hardest to fight off tears but some still rolled onto her cheeks. Sherlock knew that John got these nightmares too, sometimes when he was staying over, Sherlock could hear him mumbling and would have to go upstairs to wake him. He now gripped Jemima tightly, reassuring her.

"This isn't Afghanistan." He told her. "You're not going to be hurt here, you're fine I promise."

She kept sobbing into his arms but she was already starting to calm down.

"I've got you, you're ok, I've got you." He felt her heart beating frantically in her chest. The more he talked to her, the more her heartbeats matched his. She was just drifting off to sleep when Sherlock said something he'd never said to anybody before.

"Jemima Jones, I love you." He looked at her and saw that she was sleeping. She probably wouldn't ever know he'd said it. He kissed her forehead lightly and snuggled in to sleep again.

"I love you too, Sherlock Holmes." Came a small whisper. Sherlock smiled to himself and went back to sleep with Jemima in his arms.


	13. An Unexpected Idea

Sherlock was pacing nervously as John walked into Baker Street. His long legs swiftly covered the distance between the sofa and the fireplace before turning and going back again. His fingers were tented under his chin and his eyes were squeezed shut in concentration. 

"Are you alright Sherlock?" He asked, frowning slightly with confusion as he watched his friend pace up and down the flat.

"Fine." He replied, continuing to pace.

"Where's Jemima?" John asked.

"In the bathroom." Sherlock sank into his chair and his fingers began to tap out a frenzied, erratic rhythm on the armrest. 

At that point, Jemima rushed from the bathroom. 

"Oh, hi John! I was just going out." She said cheerfully as she shrugged on her coat. She quickly wrapped a scarf around her neck. She grabbed her bag and ran over to Sherlock.

"Bye." He said, with a soft smile only Jemima could coax out of him.

"Goodbye. See you later." She replied, giving him a kiss on the forehead. "Sorry to rush off like this." She said to John. "I'm just going to collect details for a case from Lestrade. Sherlock can't be bothered to go."

"Definitely less than a seven." He replied, seemingly uninterested. 

"Okay then, see you later." John said, receiving a friendly hug from Jemima before she ran out the door.

There was a short pause before Sherlock hopped up from his chair and started pacing again. Suddenly he stopped and turned to look at John. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words.  
He took a deep breath before he finally spoke. 

"I want to prepose to Jemima."

John's mouth hung open and he stared at Sherlock in shock. He stood three for a while before he could finally get himself together enough to speak. 

"Well." He said "That was, unexpected."

"Is it a good idea?" Sherlock asked nervously, his eyes wide. He was still desperate for his friend's approval.

"Yes! Yes of course it is! If that's what you want then you should definitely do it." John said quickly, he still seemed to be in shock. His brain was having trouble coping. 

Sherlock suddenly walked swiftly towards John, his eyes wild and glinting like a madman's.

"How does she do it John?" He asked. 

"Do what?' John asked. His friend's intense stare was almost becoming too much. 

"Jemima makes me want to do things I would never have dreamed of doing in a million years!" He exclaimed, breaking the stare and beginning to flounce around the room. "She makes me so unlike my normal self it should scare me but somehow she makes it just feel right." 

He paused before turning to look back at his friend. "Is it love John? Am I in love?"

" I don't know. Maybe. " John replied unhelpfully. For once, he really wasn't sure how to advise him. He never believed that Sherlock could feel things that way and to learn that he actually wanted to propose was a shock. 

"I need to get a ring." Sherlock said, pulling on his coat and scarf and sweeping down the stairs.


	14. A Wild Sherlock Chase

Jemima arrived back at Baker Street and found a note hanging on the door knocker. It read: 'I have something important to tell you, go to your favorite cafe and order your favorite drink. Tell them it's courtesy of Sherlock Holmes. - SH'

Jemima grabbed the note and jumped in a cab. She arrived at her favorite coffee place and told them her order was already paid for by Sherlock. The drink came with another note strapped to the top. This one said: Good. You found it. Although, to be honest, it was extremely easy. Now go to the cafe run by someone who owes me a favour. - SH'

Jemima began to wonder what all this was all about. Was Sherlock in trouble? Or was he just taking her on a tour of every cafe in London just to irritate her. She wouldn't put it past him. She got to Angelo's in no time, but her cab bill was going to rack up if this continued for much longer, she thought as she handed the money over. Angelo saw her come in. She was looking everywhere and seemed confused.

"Ahh Jemima." Sherlock was here earlier, you missed him." Angelo said.

"Don't worry. It's not him I'm looking for." She replied, spotting a note on the window seat they always used.

'Number one bolt hole - SH'

Jemima sighed again and went back outside to find her cabbie, if he hadn't already left. Thankfully, he hadn't and she hopped back in, instructing the driver to take her to Leinster Gardens.

She pushed open the creaky door into the small, dirty and slightly damp corridor. She heard a scuttle behind her. She should get some mouse traps for this place. Dust that seemed to be from the plaster on the ceiling covered the depressing concrete floor and old wallpaper was peeling in strips from the walls bruised with damp patches. It had been a long time since anybody had properly cared about this tiny place. Jemima was starting to get irritated with the repetitiveness of it all and just wanted Sherlock to tell her where he was already. He granted her wish, sort of. The last note was pinned to the wall.

'You know where to find me - SH'

She had to think about that one for a while, then remembered that the taxi driver was still waiting outside. At least she had a few places to try. The first was her strongest hunch.

She twiddled her thumbs nervously as the taxi pulled up outside the park near Baker Street where Sherlock had his little hiding place. She paid the driver for the last time and jogged through the park, looking for signs of Sherlock's presence. Sure enough, she found a clearly placed trail of autumn leaves in a wide array of colours leading right to the clearing in the bushes. She peeked round the leaves at the somewhat hidden entrance and saw Sherlock standing there, his head just brushing the leaf canopy above him. His face lit up when he saw her but he still seemed nervous.

"Hello Jemima." he smiled at her, his voice shaky.

"Hi Sherlock, I found your notes. Are you okay? Is somebody following you? What's wrong?" She said, suddenly worried for his safety.

"I'm alright. Nothing's wrong, don't worry." He reassured her. "Come here."

Jemima shuffled forward, now properly confused and Sherlock gently took one of her hands in his.

"I don't know how you manage to control me the way you do, I don't think I'll ever understand, but I've realised recently that I've never loved anyone like I do you." He paused as if trying to find the right words. "I really do...love you Jemima; More than anyone else on this earth. I've realised that I want to spend the rest of my life with you." He said it gently, stroking her hand with his fingers as he said it.

Suddenly, he dropped to one knee and pulled a blue velvet ring box from his pocket and opened it. "Jemima. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Jemima's eyes widened in shock as she stared at the beautiful engagement ring in the box. It was the last thing she had expected. Without warning, she started to cry.

"What is it? What did I do wrong?" Sherlock asked frantically.

"You did it perfectly Sherlock." Jemima whispered, her voice overflowing with emotion. "Of course I'll marry you!" She wrapped herself in his arms, still crying with happiness, and hugged Sherlock tightly. After a minute, when Jemima had pulled herself together, Sherlock slipped the ring onto her finger.

"You're going to be Mrs Holmes." Sherlock said and kissed her gently.


	15. Never Have I Ever...

"Never have I ever...run out of a restaurant without paying." A drunk Jemima slurred. She was on her hen night, with Mary, Molly and Jeanine. They were playing a game that had a lot to do with the tray full of shot glasses sat in front of them on the bar. After hearing her statement, Mary picked up a shot glass and downed it. Jemima widened her eyes at her.

"Sherlock came back from the dead and John punched him in the face. Paying wasn't at the top of my to-do list." She grinned.

"Molly, your turn." Jemima said, loosely gesturing to her with an empty shot glass.

"Never have I ever, ummmm...ummm... Gone skinny dipping." She said, finally thinking of a question. Both Jemima and Jeanine downed shots.

"Really Jemima?" Jeanine raised an eyebrow.

"When you're with a bunch of army blokes and you're off duty, and they dare you to do something, you don't say no. You'd never live it down." She replied.

"Fair enough." Jeanine said. "Never have I ever, mooned someone."

Jemima giggled and downed a shot, Molly picked one up too, clearly embarrassed.

"It was one time." Molly protested.

"We're not judging you love." Jeanine laughed.

"Never have I ever, kissed Sherlock Holmes." Mary said with a smirk.

"Are you on mission to get me totally sloshed?" Jemima said, taking a shot in each hand."I have to have two, because it happens so much." she giggled. Jeanine took one and so did Molly.

"Molly?" Mary looked surprised.

"I tried to kiss him on the cheek and he moved his head, it was really embarrassing." She confessed.

At that moment, Jemima's phone began to ring.

"Hello?...Iloveyouiloveyoyireallyreallyloveyou." A totally hammered Sherlock said on the other end of the line.

"Who are you and what have you done with my fiancée." An equally pissed Jemima joked.

"I mean it Jemima." Sherlock slurred. Jemima could hear loud singing in the background of the call.

"Who's singing? Is that...Lestrade and...Mycroft?"

"Yep. I think John is filming them on his phone. We played spin the bottle earlier and they had to snog each other. They seemed to enjoy it a bit..."

"Wow...okay...who else was playing?"

"Umm, all of us and...some others."

"Random bar girls?"

"It was Lestrade's idea. And...actually... I feel...a bit...dizzy."

"Sherlock?"

"I don't... I mean...ugh." Jemima heard a crash from the other end of the line and then a lot of cheering before the phone hung up. It seemed like Sherlock was totally incapacitated.

"The other lot are all pissed, Mycroft and Lestrade are having a jolly sing along and Sherlock just passed out on the table." Jemima relayed the information.

"Brilliant." Mary grinned. Luckily, it wasn't the night before the wedding, it was another whole day before the couple would be married, just to make sure everyone wasn't hungover at the ceremony.

"I need to get to my hotel." Jeanine said, checking her watch.

"I think we all need to get back actually. Jemima's certainly had enough." Mary said. It was true, the rest of the group were mildly giggly, Jemima was almost passed out.

"Nah, I reckon I could have a few more." Jemima protested.

"Wanna bet? Can you even stand up?" Mary laughed.

"Course I can!" Jemima pushed her chair back and stood herself up, wobbling and leaning heavily on the table. "Ta-da!"

"Stand up on your own, take your hand off the table." Mary said. Jemima did and gave Mary a triumphant look before plummeting face-first to the floor, failing wildly.

"Told you." Mary sat there with a smug grin on her face, her arms folded. She and the rest of the table then erupted into giggles.

"I'm okay!" Jemima's slightly muffled voice came from her face down position on the grubby pub carpet. The group laughed at her again.

"Come on you. Up you get." A slightly wobbly Mary picked up Jemima from the floor and let her lean against her. Molly leant against Mary's other shoulder in an effort to keep herself standing. Jeanine almost went flying on the step outside the pub.

"Bye all!" She laughed and waved clumsily at the group before hailing a cab and almost diving inside.

"It's been really nice, we should do this again sometime." A slightly clumsy Molly detached herself from Mary and hailed herself another cab. Mary stopped another two cabs quite quickly and lay Jemima down in the back seat of one. She told the cab driver the address of the hotel that Jemima had booked for the two nights left before the wedding.

"You be careful okay?" She told Jemima, shaking her head and laughing. "Bye!"

Jemima responded with a meek wave and promptly passed out on the back seat. She was going to be rough tomorrow.


	16. Wish You Were Here

Jemima trudged through the dim hotel room, the only light was coming from the open window as shafts ofof grey moonlight poured inside. She scratched her head and yawned sleepily, shuffling to her large bed in her worn slippers, wearing a blue nightshirt that was slightly too big for her. It was the night before the wedding and as she slipped under the comfy white duvet, she caught sight of her wedding dress hanging on the back of her door, sealed in a bag to protect it before the big day. Nerves stabbed at her insides like pinpricks, her stomach churned and she bit her lip. Jemima missed the feeling of Sherlock laying beside her in the bed. It hadn't really mattered last night because shed been so drunk but tonight she really craved the feeling of his arms around her. He was the only thing that could calm her when she had nerves like this. She missed his warmth, his smell and the way his dark curls brushed the back of her neck as she slept. She reminded herself that she would have it all back the next day and really looked forward to it.

Just as her eyelids grew heavy and she started to drift off, her phone buzzed loudly on the bedside table, making the whole thing vibrate. It rang through the quiet night air and broke the sleepy silence of the small room. Jemima scooped it up in one clumsy hand and looked at her texts, picking the sleep from the corners of her eyes and squinting. The bright screen lit up in her face and stung her eyes as she attempted to read who the text was from. She looked away, blinked a few times, and looked back again. It was one new message from Sherlock.

'Goodnight Miss Jones -SH'

Jemima smiled sleepily and replied,

'Goodnight Mr Holmes -JJ'

She turned the phone screen off, sighed happily at both the text and the sudden darkness, and crawled back under the fluffy bedcovers.


	17. Another Wedding (No Murderers Allowed)

Jemima was sitting on the edge of the bed in the quiet of the morning in her dressing gown and slippers, quietly contemplating her wedding dress with a nervous look plastered across her face. The grey shafts of moonlight from the night before had been replaced by bright beams of sun streaming in through the large, white-framed window. Jemima snapped out of her nervous, frozen state on the side of the bed and looked up quickly when there was a knock on the door. It was Molly and Mary, laden with bags or everything they would need to get ready. There was a proper hair and makeup professional arriving soon but they all had to get dressed into thier outfits first.

"Hey!" Mary gave a wide smile as she hopped through the door. Enveloping Jemima in a hug. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I suppose." Said Jemima, swallowing her nerves enough to smile a them both.

"Where to we get changed?" Said an excited Molly, who was also grinning from ear to ear.

"Just use the bathroom." Jemima gestured to the bathroom door.

Soon they were all dressed. Molly and Mary were wearing light blue dresses with slightly fluffy skirts and elegant long sleeves. They both looked wonderful. Jemima wore the traditional white. The dress reached all the way down to the floor and had a flowing skirt that puffed out a little around her legs. The dress itself had a strapless bodice with intricate detail on it in white but under that, she wore a mostly see-through, off the shoulder, lace top with long sleeves. The hair stylist did her golden brown curly hair half-up, half-down and fixed a tiara in place and attached it to a veil that reached to her upper back and fluttered around her shoulders. Both Mary and Molly were speechless.

A short while before the wedding was due to start, Jemima climbed into a light blue vintage car. It had white ribbons on the front and they fluttered in the gentle breeze. She sat between Molly and Mary in the back seat. Molly realised that Jemima was shaking next to her.

"You scared?" She asked quietly, putting a comforting hand on the bride's shoulder.

"Yeah. Just a bit." Jemima replied, almost whispering.

"You'll be fine. It's going to go brilliantly."

"I hope so Molly."

"You really love him. Don't you." Molly smiled. There was a dash of sadness in her face.

"Yes. I love him more than anything." Jemima confirmed.

"I can see it. When you talk to him. Whenever you're with him. I can see the love in your eyes, and in his too. You're perfect for each other. I'd never seen Sherlock that way about anyone before. He cares about you more than anything else."

"I think you're right. Thank you Molly. You always know how to make me feel better." Jemima smiled. She shuffled in her seat and gave Molly a big hug,

The car pulled up outside the small church. Jemima's old friend James was standing outside, she had chosen him to walk her down the aisle, he smiled at the car nervously. She got out if the car carefully, trying her hardest to be graceful and walked over to James. He linked arms with her and smiled .

"I'm so happy for you." He whispered in her ear as the music in the church began to play. There was a loud shuffle as everyone stood. Jemima's friend began to lead her up the aisle.

She saw Sherlock standing at the altar, a bundle of nerves. He was twiddling his thumbs compulsively until he turned around and saw his soon-to-be wife. He was transfixed with everything about her. He loved the way the dress fell around her small feet, the way the veil fluttered around her shoulders in the breeze from the open door, the way her hair bounced as she walked and her eyes. Oh her eyes. They were brighter than ever, shining at him like beacons as she grinned, swishing towards him. He grinned back. He could feel John smiling at him too.

She got to the altar, James grinned at her and took his place in the front row. Mrs Holmes was already crying at the sight of her son. She'd never expected either of her children to marry, being like they were, so naturally, she was clinging to her husband happily as she glowed with pride in the front row. Mycroft sat with them, trying not to be sick at the sight of all the festivities.

Jemima turned to Sherlock and took his hand gently. He was smiling at her, slightly delerious and terrified. He wasn't even sure why he was scared but he couldn't really help it. They exchanged vows and rings before kissing for the first time as husband and wife. Sherlock caressed his new wife's face tenderly and kissed her gently to whoops and cheers from the guests. Quite a lot of the shouts of joy were marred by happy sniffles and people sobbing with the emotion of it all. Lestrade was only just holding back. The couple left the church, hand in hand. Photos were taken before leaving for the reception. Everyone marvelled at how happy they looked. Nobody there had ever seen Sherlock with so much love and happiness in his eyes before, it was out of character but the aura of joy suited him well.

Soon, everyone was sitting at the reception. Everyone was having fun and they had all just eaten a brilliant meal. They were chatting away animatedly with each other and didn't notice John standing up. He taped on the site of his champagne flute with the end of a spoon to command thier attention. Everyone fell silent and he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Ummm...Hello. Well... Sherlock said he didn't want any speeches so I'm going to keep this short. I've been friends with Sherlock for a long time now, and I've known Jemima for even longer. I had no idea that having you both at my wedding meant we'd end up at another one. I never expected Sherlock to be marrying someone, let alone one of my best friends. There was only one other woman that Sherlock even showed the slightest interest in, and I think she got beheaded."

"Nope." Sherlock interrupted.

"Shut up Sherlock." John shot him a look before continuing. "I think you both are good for each other. Everyone around you can see that you've changed each other's lives for the better and I hope you'll both be very happy together." He stood and raised his glass "To Jemima and Sherlock."

The room echoed his phrase, their champange flutes glittering in the sunlight streaming in through the large windows. Everyone sat down again except Sherlock.

"Hello, I just wanted to say a few things before we get started on the dancing. That was a long speech for someone who wasn't going to make one in the first place John but admittedly it was very nice. Actually, when I said no speeches I was lying. I wanted to make a speech for my wife. I believed, for a long time, that I could survive on my own. I didn't need anyone else to keep me company. I didn't feel the way everyone else did. I thought I'd severed myself from any sort of emotions or feelings. I thought I was incapable of love. Most people that meet me hate me from the start but Jemima didn't. You were different somehow. From the moment I met you I couldn't get you out of my head. Your face was distracting me from cases and I was drowned in all sorts of new emotions that I couldn't control. I made friends with you but I knew there was something more. I couldn't quite tell what it was or understand it until that Christmas day. Your love was the best present I could have wished for. Now my life is brighter with you in it and I wouldn't go back. You taught me how to love and I'll always be grateful for it. Another thing I lied about was when I said at John's wedding that I'd never make a vow again. I made quite a few today and I want to make just one more. Jemima, my wife. I want to tell you that I won't ever leave you. I promise that I'll hold you close for the rest of my days and if there's a life after death I'll hold you then. We make a good team I think, I want nothing more than to keep you safe and I promise to love you for eternity, if such a thing is possible. " He smiled a little at Jemima, who was trying not to cry. She suddenly jumped up and kissed him. Or of the corner of his eye he spotted Mycroft sitting with his parents and rolling his eyes at his little brother. Everyone else cheered and clapped, John and Mary were the loudest.

Soon after that, everyone was up on their feet, lining the walls around the dancefloor to watch Jemima and Sherlock in their first dance. Sherlock had been tutoring Jemima, which at first seemed totally hopeless, as she couldn't dance to save her life. She took the phrase 'two left feet' to a whole new level but long sessions shuffling round Baker Street with an impatient teacher she had got the hang of it and looked slightly less of a prat when she was dancing. Mostly Sherlock just led her around the dancefloor and she went with whatever he did. It looked good though, and everyone clapped at the end of the song, which was a recording of Sherlock playing one of Jemima's favourite classical pieces. Then everyone started to dance to the DJ's music. Lestrade busted some particularly impressive moves but Sherlock ended up one-upping him by performing a very manly pirouette. Molly kept stealing looks at the happy couple and seemed sad when she did. Maybe she imagined herself in the wedding dress, dancing the night away, but she knew that one day she'd finally find someone. Mycroft sat in the corner of the room grumpily, like a schoolboy who was being punished. Even though there weren't many guests, Sherlock was also becoming increasingly tired of people coming over to offer their congratulations. Thankfully, just as everyone was getting tired, the DJ announced one last song. It was a slow dance and Jemima melted into Sherlock's warm, soft embrace as they swayed around together. She breathed in his smell, vowing to remember every moment of that day. She felt him kiss her on the forehead and she smiled into him, both of them letting the sweet music fill their ears.

After the song finished, they thanked all the guests for coming and everyone stated to make their way home. As Sherlock's patents left with a disgruntled Mycroft his mum squeezed his arm happily smiled at him proudly and his dad, to his disgust, ruffled his hair. It was the first time that evening that Mycroft had looked genuinely happy. As the trio stared to move off, he lagged behind.

"Congratulations brother mine." He said.

"Thank you Mycroft." Sherlock replied, his arm wrapped around Jemima's waist.

It was quiet when Sherlock and Jemima finally got back to Baker Street. Just as they were standing on the doorstep, Sherlock effortlessly swept her up in his arms and carried her inside. They didn't bother turning on the hall light and he stumbled upstairs with her in his arms, giggling like small children in dark. They had to creep past the noises of a snoring Mrs Hudson, who'd left the wedding early to go to bed. At the top of the stairs Sherlock nearly dropped Jemima and she squealed playfully. He carried her all through the flat and dropped her onto the bed. He knelt over her and kissed her roughly.

"At least Mrs Hudson won't burst in this time." She giggled.

"No interruptions this time." He assured her. Smirking and caressing her face. " Now get this bloody dress off quick."

"I thought you liked it!" She pouted at him.

"I do! I really like it and you look lovely in it but right this second you'd look a lot better without it."

Jemima felt Sherlock reach underneath her and unzip the back of the dress. She pulled it off over her head and cast the swathes of white material aside before turning her attentions to getting Sherlock's clothes off as quickly as possible. Soon his suit joined her dress on the floor. He paused to a second and stared at Jemima.

"You ok?" She asked in a gentle voice, stroking his cheek.

"More than ok." He grinned and kissed her again.


	18. Wedded Bliss

Jemima awoke to the sound of a boiling kettle from the kitchen drifting through the bedroom door, which was standing slightly ajar. She sighed sleepily and blinked a few times, getting used to the daylight. She was suddenly aware that Sherlock wasn't lying next to her but just assumed it was him working the kettle. His side of the bed was still warm. He couldn't have been awake long. Her phone buzzed on the beside table next to her and she shuffled over under the warm duvet and picked it up with clumsy hands. It was a text from Sherlock. With a quick finger stroke she opened it and grinned. She spotted the last text from the night before the wedding.

Goodnight Miss Jones - SH

Underneath it was the latest message.

Good morning Mrs Holmes - SH

Jemima smiled giddily and replied hastily.

Same to you husband - JH

"I made breakfast! " Sherlock shouted from the next room. She stood up quickly and got a sudden wave of dizziness and had to sit down again quickly. Her mind hadn't quite switched into 'awake' mode yet. She stretched like a lazy cat across a sofa and yawned as she plodded sleepily into the kitchen wearing a slightly too big shirt of Sherlock's as a nightdress and one of his old dressing gowns. She wrapped it round herself with one hand, breathing in his scent that still lingered on it. Her other hand reached up to inspect her bedhead and she hastily combed it through with her fingers, wincing as they hit tight matted knots that had seemed to have appeared overnight as if by magic. Sherlock seemed to be in an unusually cheery mood as he placed two small plates of warm chocolate croissants on the table and sat down.

"Yum." She said, sliding into the chair next to his and immediately grabbing one of the hot pastries. "I feel strange, I'm Mrs Holmes now. It hasn't really sunk in yet I don't think."

"I don't like wearing the ring much. I never wear rings." Sherlock added, flidding with the gold band on his finger with an expression of distaste.

"You'll get used to it." She said through a mouthful of croissant.

Suddenly, the noise of sheep came from inside Sherlock's trouser pocket.

"What the hell was that? That's the second time this morning!" Sherlock exclaimed, pulling out his phone and staring at it in disbelief. Jemima burst into giggles.

"Was this you?" He frowned. "God I hate you."

"No you don't!" She giggled back in a singsong voice.

"How do you know?" He smirked.

"Well, for one, you're smiling at me." She pouted. "It's just the ringtone, you can change it back easily. What was the text anyway?"

Sherlock opened the text and stopped. He felt shivers of fear trickle up and down his spine.

Hi chaps! I'm back! - JM

He took a deep, nervous breath and handed the phone to Jemima without a word. Her blood ran cold and she almost dropped the mobile.

"I'm going to Scotland Yard." Sherlock suddenly announced, taking back his phone and standing up. "I need to tell Lestrade."

"Do you have to do it now?" Jemima stared up at him, worried that he would be launching himself into danger. She hung on to his arm slightly.

"There's no time to lose. The more time we waste, the more time he has to plan things." Sherlock told her, shrugging on his coat and sweeping out the door.

Jemima watched him go, helpless. She couldn't follow him all the way to Scotland Yard unless she wanted the whole team, including Donovan, to see her in her pyjamas. She ran into the bedroom quickly to get ready, hoping to catch up with him. She threw on an outfit as swiftly as she could and tied her hair back. She was just about to leave when a loud crashing sound came from the sitting room. She heard their front door fall to the carpet with a deafening thud. The sound of unfamiliar footsteps jerked her brain into action and she instinctively threw herself under the large double bed and tried to keep her terror to a minimum. She lay on her front, hardly daring to breathe. She turned her head slightly to one side and saw a pair of shiny black shoes clump past. The feet suddenly stopped right next to the bed just as Jemima had to breathe out. Before she could think the owner of the shiny shoes had pulled her out from under the bed. She wrenched herself from his tight grip, her army training was serving her well. She threw enough punches to take him out and made to run before two more thugs burst into the bedroom. They quickly overpowered her, as she was quite small and suddenly the coarse material of a gag was being thrust between her teeth and tied tightly around her head. He hands and ankles were bound by unyielding, strong, plastic cable ties. The men left her tied on the floor for a second while they revived their comrade and the three of them then dragged her down the stairs. Mrs Hudson must have been at the shops. She kicked out at the men and at the walls to try and make some noise but that didn't last long before she was knocked over the head with a heavy, balled-up fist and rendered unconscious.


	19. Signs of a Struggle

Sherlock ran up the stairs into 221B, straight past the tiny spatters of blood from his wife's broken nose. He missed the dent in the wall where she'd kicked out and the scratch in the paint on the door from where she'd desperately clawed at it, trying to hang on. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Moriarty. He called his wife's name loudly but there was no reply. He looked and saw that her coat and scarf were still hanging up. Despite the sun, there was a definate chill in the air, she had to still be in the flat, she wouldn't have left without them. He rang her mobile and it immediately began to buzz on the kitchen table. He began to get worried. A quick scan of the flat confirmed that she wasn't there. He concentrated on the sitting room for signs of a struggle. He definitely found them. There were scuffs on the floor from newly polished leather shoes, not his or Jemima's. He went down the stairs and spotted the dent, blood splatters and scratches in the door. They'd taken her keys to lock up the flat behind them so nothing seemed wrong. Sherlock ran into the street, looking around frantically, but of course he found nothing. He pulled out his phone and dialled John's number.

"John?" He said, sounding panicked.

"Yes what is it? Is everything alright?" He could sense the strain in his best friend's voice.

"No, I think Jemima's been kidnapped. I've checked the flat, there were signs of a struggle in the sitting room and on the stairs. She doesn't have her mobile with her or her coat. The building opposite has CCTV, I'm going to Scotland Yard to check it. Can you meet me there?" Sherlock said in a rush, sounding more distressed with every word.

"Oh my god. Oh my god... I'll see you there. Who the hell would do something like this?" John asked.

"Moriarty would." Sherlock said. I got a text from him this morning."

There was a groan of despair from the other end of the line and then silence. Sherlock ran to the edge of the pavement and quickly hailed a taxi. John was already there when he arrived and they ran to ask Lestrade if they could see the CCTV. Sherlock looked on the verge of tears with a mix of anger and despair when he saw his wife, bound, gagged and unconscious, being bundled into the back of a van. The CCTV showed the number plate and work began to track it down.


	20. The End of the Line

Jemima's eyes opened slowly, she was immediately aware of the hard plastic cable ties around her wrists and ankles, binding her to the chair. She wriggled slightly and they tightened, digging into her soft skin and leaving a ring of red marks. She was in a large warehouse, strung up to a cold metal chair in the centre. The only light still working was right above her head, the rest of the room was basked in eerie shadow. She looked up at the long strip light directly above her, only one section was still working and it was glowing dimly, not doing much to dent the darkness that was threatening to engulf her. She felt panic rise up inside her and her heart beat faster. Suddenly, Jemima was aware of another presence in the room.

"Hi!" Called a cheery yet sinister voice from the side of the room. She assumed it was the entrance over there and could even make out somebody waving in her direction. The voice made her blood run cold and she stiffened up in the chair. The ties burned at her wrists again as she struggled, watching the figure of Moriarty stepping ever closer. His footsteps echoed across the warehouse in a steady beat, like a ticking clock counting down to her imminent demise. Moriarty reached her and stood a metre away, one half of his face in shadow and the other in the the light, half angel, half demon. Jemima's heart rattled against her ribcage like a trapped bird trying to break free as he grinned at her with a wild streak glittering in his eyes.

"So, hello Miss Jones. Oh...wait a second." Moriarty walked closed and bent down behind the chair where Jemima's wrists were bound up and took one of her slightly shaking hands in his to look at it. She shivered slightly at his unfamiliar touch as he inspected her shiny gold wedding band. "Of couse, you're Mrs Holmes now. Congratulations." He leered at her, whispering the last word close to her ear. Their noses were almost touching as he smiled menacingly into her face.

Jemima was terrified but she could let him see that. "You don't scare me." She said stoically, matching his gaze and trying not to shudder with fear and repulsion. "They will find me you know, Sherlock and John. They'll always come back for me and you won't get away with this."

"Well then." A sickening grin was still carved into Moriarty's face. "Let's get down to business." He slipped a hand into the pocket of his perfectly fitted designer gray suit and pulled out a small knife.

"You see." He said, holding the knife so it glinted in the only light source. "My favourite game is messing with Sherlock's mind and my favourite way to mess with people's minds is to hurt their loved ones. They care so much, it's adorable. I thought Sherlock was different, something else. I had nobody to use. Well, except John, but he was hard to get to, he wasn't worth it. Now you, my dear, are too easy to get to. You're perfect. And now I have you. My damsel in distress." He brought the shining silver blade under her chin and she tried desperately not to shiver. "This is how I'll mess with dear Sherlock's mind this time. How long I've waited for you my dear. This is going to be such fun! I finally have the princess to complete the fairytale. Except, your prince isn't going to arrive."

He took the knife and slashed it violently across her arms. She winced and bit her lip, knowing that struggling against it would only bring her more pain. Deep red blood began to flow from the cuts and her eyes began to sting with tears. She felt it again as Moriarty brought the blade down upon her a second time before becoming bored. He put down the knife and simply punched her in the face. Her already broken nose took the worst of it and she cried out. Punching wasn't normally Moriarty's style but he seemed to find it satisfying. 

"You're sick." Jemima choked out defiantly. She could taste blood in her mouth and she spat it violently at his feet.

"Do you know the other reason I brought you here?" Moriarty asked sweetly. Picking up the knife and casually waving it about as he spoke.

"What else could you possibly want?" Jemima was slumped over in her chair, her hair fanning out around her head.

"I know your secret, and if you step out of line for one second...Then I'll tell him. You see, I'm not the only villain in this story." He said threateningly, the knife poised to cut her. Jemima's head snapped up reflexively to stare at him.

"How." She whispered in disbelief. "How could you possibly know that." She was rocked. None of the injuries he'd inflicted so far could compare to this threat. The coldness seeping through her body instensified and made her shudder. The metal chair she was bound to seemed to sap any heat from her weak limbs.

Mortiarty laughed and slashed her again on the arms, one on the cheek and on the forehead. The later immediately started bleeding and the blood flowed into her eyes, making it almost impossible to see her attacker. She managed to blink most of it away and she could see just a little.

"Right then. I made sure your dearest Sherlock found it easy to get to you. I wanted him to see you like this. By my calculations he should be here any second. We'd better get this finished." He dropped the knife and Jemima frowned in confusion until Moriarty whipped a gun from his belt and pointed it at her.

That was when Sherlock burst through the door.

Just in time too see his wife shot in the stomach.

Time seemed to slow down. Jemima slumped right over in her chair as Moriarty made a quick exit. He was gone before Sherlock could do anything. He'd disappeared into the shadows leaving only his sickening laughter behind him. John ran in behind Sherlock and they both quickly got Jemima out of the chair. She was helped down to the floor by her husband and her best friend. Her breaths came in rattling gasps and she was clutching the wound on the left side of her stomach where the bullet went in. Sherlock knelt beside her, at a loss of what to do. Jemima cried out as John prized her bloodstained hands off her wound and quickly asked Sherlock for his scarf. The detective obliged and John pressed it to the wound with another cry of pain from his patient. She lifted up her shaking hands and saw they were covered in sticky, red blood. She burst into tears crying out in pain and nothing would get her to stop.

"She's going into shock." John told Sherlock, pulling out his phone with hands stained red with his friend's blood. "I need to call an ambulance. The wound is tied up so you don't need to keep pressure on it but you need to calm her down and quickly."

"How?" Sherlock asked, helpless. John thought he looked like a small, innocent child as he knelt on the floor, holding back tears.

"Find a way. And fast." John replied, dialling 999.

Sherlock reached out and desparetly clutched his sobbing wife. "Shhh Jemima. You'll be okay. I'll make sure you're okay, I promise." He whispered softly to her. Jemima tried to compose herself a bit and stopped screaming but there were still soft tears flowing down her face.

"It hurts." She sobbed.

"I know. Believe me, I know, but you're strong. You're going to get through this. You have to get through this." Sherlock told her.

"I'm going to die, I can feel it." She choked out.

"No. The ambulance will get here soon and you'll be fine." Sherlock stated with a child-like denial. He grabbed her hand tightly. "Don't lose yourself."

Jemima composed herself for just a second and looked up at John from her position propped up in Sherlock's arms on the floor. The room blurred around her and her head span as she tried to comprehend everything that was happening but she could still see her friend through the pain. He had been her colleague and most importantly, he had saved her life before. She knew he couldn't do anything this time, he'd tied up her wound but he didn't have the equipment for anything more. She knew he felt helpless and she wanted to thank him for everything he'd done for her.

"Doctor Watson." She said in a weak, strained voice. John looked at her despairingly. He knew he was about to watch his friend die and he couldn't take it.

"Yes?" He said calmly, trying to hold back the lump in his throat.

Jemima shuffled slightly in Sherlock's arms so she was sitting upright and performed a shaky salute. Her other hand was still planted firmly over her wound and there were a few years rolling gently down her cheeks. John stood up straight, his hands by his sides. A proper soldier's stance. He stared at her for a few seconds before saluting her back. As he put his arm down a rouge tear tumbled down his face and he made a strangled noise. He turned away slightly, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to get himself under control. He was immediately back at Sherlock's graveside, stating at the black stone and feeling nothing but pain as he looked at his best friend's name carved into it. He imagined it the same way, just with Jemima's name on the stone, and the sure knowledge that she would never be coming back. He turned his back on the two of them, giving them a few last moments together.

"I'm scared Sherlock." She whispered. He leant over and kissed her on the forehead. He noticed that Jemima's eyes kept fluttering closed before she forced them open again. She was really fighting to stay alive.

"Stay here, don't sleep, stay with me. Come on." Sherlock clutched her closer.

"I can't. Sherlock, I'm sorry. I love you." She looked up into his face one more time and sighed. Sherlock looked down at his wife as her eyes gently fluttered closed.

"No." He whispered. "Come back." He felt Jemima's heart slowing as he held her against his chest.

"John!" He shouted desparetly. "No, Jemima, come back, please... I love you."

John watched on, helpless, as his friend's world broke down around him. Had tears dripping down his cheeks. John realised this must be why Sherlock had chosen not to show emotion or to fall in love. He didn't want people to get hurt.

Suddenly, sirens roared outside. Paramedics burst through the door and swarmed around Jemima, who'd long since gone into cardiac arrest and stopped breathing. She was prised from her husband's desparete fingers and carried into the ambulance. Sherlock and John jumped in after them and they sped off to the hospital. Sherlock couldn't watch as they tried to restart Jemima's heart. He was slumped in a seat with his head in his hands, his wife's blood smeared across his palms and stuck under his fingernails. When the ambulance finally screamed into the hospital car park, after what had seemed like hours, he was left outside the operating room, not being allowed to go in. He watched through a window, holding his breath, just waiting for them to call it and pronounce her dead. Sherlock now knew what it must be like for those people who come into St Bart's, sobbing thier hearts out or lingering aimlessly in the endless corridors, he'd become one of them. He now knew what it was like to feel as they did. He watched with wide, disbelieving eyes as the doctors seemed to shake their heads at each other sadly. One of them looked up at the clock and called the time to the other doctors. Then the heart monitor started bleeping. Sherlock pushed as close to the glass as he could, staring at the monitor. The look in his eyes had changed from one of horror to one of wild hope.


	21. Morse Code

Jemima woke up and moaned sleepily. She felt a soft, familiar hand on hers and found herself looking into Sherlock's eyes.

"Oh thank god, you're awake." He said with a sigh of relief. "Some of the doctors didn't think you'd wake up." He stroked her hair fondly but he still looked worried.

"I'm definitely awake." Jemima mumbled sleepily.

"I thought I'd lost you." Sherlock said. "Never do that to me again."

"I won't." She promised. She tried to reach up to give Sherlock a hug but she quickly fell back, letting a moan of pain escape her lips.

"Try not to move, it'll hurt less soon." He said, gesturing to the morphine drip attached to her arm. He quickly leant over her to the machine next to the bed and upped her dose a little. She smiled up at him gratefully.

"Can you lean down and give me a hug? Just be gentle, okay?" Jemima asked.

Sherlock smiled a little and carefully embraced his wife. She gave him a swift kiss on the lips. He tasted like coffee, she noticed. He must have been downing mugfuls of the stuff just to keep himself awake.

"I should tell John you're awake. He arrived a few minutes ago with Mary but the nurses wouldn't let them in." Sherlock said. He ran from the small, bright hospital room with the promise to be back in a minute. Soon after he returned with John and Mary, who were both very relived to be greeted with a big smile from Jemima.

"You're very cheerful for someone who's just been shot." John said, his grin matching hers.

Jemima laughed and then winced, clutching her side. Sherlock was immediately holding her hand again.

"How are you doing?" Mary asked.

"I'm a bit dazed and very sore but otherwise I'd say I was a whole lot better than earlier." She replied as cheerfully as she could.

Suddenly, a nurse burst into the room.

"It's you two again! I told you to leave! Shoo! Get out! Stop harassing my patient! One visitor is more than enough!" The nurse babbled, chasing John and Mary from the room as if they were naughty schoolchildren. Sherlock tried to hold back giggles as he watched them go.

"Hello nurse." Jemima said, trying be polite after her sudden entrance.

"I was told you'd woken up so I came in to check on you. How are you feeling?" The nurse asked.

"Good. In pain but otherwise good." Jemima said, basically repeating what she had only just said to Mary. She sighed a little and sank back onto the pillow.

"You need rest." The nurse advised her matter-of-factly. "Get a bit more sleep and I'll cone in and check on you again later."

Jemima rolled her eyes at the nurse's retreating back as she turned on her heel and left the room as quickly as she had come.

"Get some rest." Jemima mumbled mockingly. "Just been shot and now I'm being told to sleep it off."

Sherlock laughed. "Go to sleep." He told her.

"I don't want to." She pouted. "I just woke up."

"Go to sleep." He insisted.

"No." She replied stubbornly, even though she was already yawning again.

"Fine. I'll do this then." He eased himself under the sheets next to Jemima and put an arm around her as gently as he possibly could. He was careful not to hurt her as she relaxed into him.

"I think I will go to sleep now actually." She said with a sigh as she snuggled back into Sherlock's warm embrace. "I think I am tired after all."

"I thought you might be." He replied, smirking at her.

"I love you." She mumbled.

"I love you too Jemima." Sherlock said, taking her hand in his under the sheets and brushing his thumb in circles around her palm comfortingly. He was only all too aware now of the fact that he couldn't live without Jemima. He reflected on the fact that he never believed that that a woman could ever make him feel the way he did about Jemima. Yet here he was. Married. He smiled to himself. They lay there together for a while. Just staying awake. They wanted to be close to each other and didn't really want to sleep. They didn't need to talk to each other either. Each other's company was more than enough.

After a long while, Jemima felt Sherlock's fingers begin to tap on the palm of her hand. She was just about to tell him off for being irritating but then she realised what he was trying to do. She concentrated and kept track of the pattern. She immediately recognised it as Morse code. When he'd finished, she smiled. He'd said 'I love you'. He then felt her tap back. 'I Iove you too, my Sherlock.'. He seemed shocked when he felt it, his hand tensing up. He obviously was used to never getting a reply. Jemima smiled at the realisation that he probably taps things out in morse code all the time when she's sleeping but she doesn't notice. Sherlock smiled again before stroking her hair and falling asleep with her held in his arms, as if he was the only thing keeping his fragile wife from breaking into pieces.


	22. Waking Up For Sherlock

Jemima jolted awake, a shooting pain running up her side from the bullet would due to the sudden movement. The room was dark and she couldn't see properly. Moriarty's face swam behind her eyelids, lingering there after her nightmare. However many times she blinked, she couldn't push the thought of him from her mind. She couldn't stop seeing his face. Anxiety bubbled up inside her and the heart monitor started bleeping frantically as she got more and more panicky and terrified. She began breathing heavily, trying to control herself but she couldn't help it and burst into terrified tears. Sherlock heard it and woke up with a jolt. He quickly sat up and examined the whole room for immediate danger before wrapping his arms around his broken wife.

"Jemima, look at me." He said. Jemima shuffled round to look at him. She was choking on her sobs now, giving small hiccoughs as she tried to calm down.

"What's the matter Jemima?" He asked urgently, taking her by the shoulders and looking into her watery eyes. He put his slender hands on his wife's trembling ones to still them.

"I had a nightmare. About him. About Moriarty." She replied shakily.

"Ssh, come here, calm down. It wasn't real. Just calm down. He's not here, you're safe with me." Sherlock comforted, wrapping her into a tight hug. It hurt Jemima a little but she didn't mind. Sherlock's arms were comforting and she felt warm and safe. Little by little, her heart rate slowed and she stopped being so terrified. Sherlock pulled away slightly to look at her. She was pale and drained with her unkempt curly, golden-brown hair spilling out over the pillows. She had a split lip, a smattering of green and purple mottled bruising blossoming on one cheek. On the other there was a large, neat cut that had been recently washed out. There was another on her forehead where the blood had drained into her eyes so she couldn't see. He eyes themselves had lost some of their usual brightness. Sherlock held her close again.

"I promised that I'd keep you safe. That you wouldn't get hurt. But you did, and it was my fault. I'm sorry." Sherlock told her.

"It's not your fault. I know that for sure. You haven't failed me. I love you. My Sherlock Holmes. I made sure I woke up for you." She whispered into the pillow as they laid side by side.

She turned over to go to sleep and Sherlock quickly wrapped his arms around her. She fell asleep all over again, listening to his steady breathing. His black curls brushed the side of her face as her eyes gently closed.


	23. The Other Woman

Jemima wanted to come back to Baker Street as soon as possible. She hated hospitals and wanted to get out quickly. She was discharged by the doctors even though she could hardly walk, but Sherlock promised to take care of her. As soon as they both got back she shuffled in, leaning heavily on Sherlock for support and immediately slumped into his armchair. He checked to make sure she was fine and settled himself at his microscope, studying something to do with a recent case. 

Jemima soon found that she couldn't concentrate and that her eyelids were becoming heavier. She couldn't read the newspaper that had previously been the focus of her attention. She slowly drifted off to sleep in the chair, her head lolling over her shoulder. Sherlock looks up when he heard the soft slap of the newspaper hitting the floor as Jemima's grip on it slackened. He walked over to find his wife curled up in a ball on the armchair, rather like a small kitten, he thought to himself. He scooped her up in his strong arms and carried her carefully to their bed and tucked her in gently. He brushed a light kiss on her forehead and made to leave.

"Stay with me." He heard her mumble from behind him.

"Okay. I will." Sherlock replied, lying down on top of the duvet next to her.

They stayed like that for a long while, Jemima drifting in and out of sleep, plagued by nightmares.

"Was I shouting out in my sleep again?" She asked him after he pulled her out of another bad dream.

"No."

"Then how did you know that I was having a nightmare?" She asked.

"Because I took your pulse." He said softly. Jemima felt his fingers resting on her wrist.

"Do you do that often?" She whispered back.

"Yes. It helps me sleep sometimes." He replied sheepishly. 

Jemima didn't reply for a minute, apparently deep in thought.

"I was just thinking... Have you ever loved anyone else?" She suddenly asked. "Romantically, I mean."

"There was one, but she doesn't count. We were only teenagers." Sherlock said sadly, hurt flickering in his eyes.

"What was her name?" She asked.

"Beatrice." He winced, as if the name was painful to say. Jemima looked distressed as she took in how much Sherlock's demeanour had changed in less than a few seconds. 

"Did you love her?" She probed tentatively. 

"Very much." He replied quietly.

"What happened?"

"She left without saying goodbye. I never saw her again." His lip quivered.

"Do you miss her?"

"I did. All the time. Until I met you."

"You never got over it?"

"No." He admitted. Jemima just stared back at him.

"What was she like?"

"Beautiful. And strong, she could deal with anything. She was like me, she didn't show many of her feelings and it suited us both just fine. We had fun together and we loved each other. Well, I thought she loved me. And then she was gone." He cut himself off abruptly, trying to act as if she didn't matter.

"Why did she-"

"I don't know." Sherlock cut her off sharply. "I don't want to talk about it." He slid out of the the bed and stomped sulkily out of the room.


	24. The British Government

Jemima attempted to walk purposefully into the Diogenes Club. She was still in pain and stumbled a few times, much to the horror of the old men sitting around reading their morning papers. Jemima ignored them and went right into the strangers' room.

Mycroft stood in the centre of the room behind a large mahogany desk. He eyed her curiously as she made her way over.

"Was is it that you want me to tell you?" He asked, getting straight to the point.

"I wanted to ask you about Sherlock. Something that happened to him when he was younger." 

"Why would you be interested?" 

"He still seems hung up about it." Jemima stared at her feet awkwardly.

"Oh good lord it's not about her is it? You're jealous of a girl that left Sherlock when he was a teenager!" Mycroft scoffed.

"Not jealous. Curious. I wanted to know what happened, so I can understand it. Sherlock won't talk, so I came to you. You were the obvious choice." She explained. The standing up started to get a bit much for her so she sat down in the large armchair on one side of the desk, wincing.

"Still painful is it?" Mycroft said. 

"A little." 

"Anyway." He continued. "Beatrice was the only girl Sherlock ever loved before you. He admitted that she understood him better than anyone and when he was around her he generally behaved like a disgustingly lovesick puppy. It was almost painful to watch. She left without an explanation or a goodbye and he sulked for weeks." 

"Sulked?" 

"Wouldn't sleep hardly at all. Didn't want to eat. Cried all day. It was pathetic." 

"I thought you would have been worried for him." She frowned. 

"No. Just irritated. I did warn him not to get involved."

"You're a rubbish big brother." Jemima observed, trying to make a joke even though she seemed quite distressed.

"Believe me, I am all too aware of that fact." He said. He picked up a few pieces of paperwork from the desk and glanced over them. "Anyway, don't you have to get back to him? I have better things to be doing."

"Fine." She huffed, wincing as she got out of the chair. 

"Goodbye." Mycroft dismissed her without even looking up.


	25. Information From a Criminal

Sherlock woke up with a start. He still had his arms around Jemima, as he always did. She didn't stir as he turned to look out of the window to determine the time. The curtains were pulled back and stars were still shining brightly, like diamonds on a black velevt dress. He'd been dreaming, about Bea. Jemima focing him to remember had dragged up more memories for him than he really wanted to think about, they'd been pushed down for a reason. Stuck in the back of his mind for years, in a dusty cabinet labeled 'Do Not Open'. Sherlock didn't want to remember the girl that hurt him, but he couldn't help it. Another memory of her came back to him as he stared up at the night sky. He remembered lying next to her on a hill after they'd snuck out of Sherlock's house together through the window. She was telling him all about the different constellations that hung above them like a mobile over a baby's cot. That's why he'd wanted to push out any knowledge of the solar system from his mind. It would always make him think of her. He remembered her smell, always like oranges. He knew she'd always loved that smell. He would always remember her soft, gentle fingers sliding between his as they lay side by side. 

Then Sherlock slapped himself back into reality and reminded himself that she was gone. He had an even better woman enveloped in his arms, one who would always love him, not one who would leave him. One who smelt like roses, not oranges. He turned away from the starry skies outside his window and shut the world away.

\-----------------------------------------

Jemima was sitting at the desk on her laptop when she felt a stare burning through her. She took her hands off the keyboard and swivelled round in her seat. Sherlock was staring intently at her and she frowned back.

"If you need to use the desk then I can move." She told him.

"No it's fine. I was just thinking." Sherlock replied.

"Alright then. Go back to your mind palace." She said, smiling. "I'll still be here in the real world if you need anything."

Sherlock tented his long, slender fingers and placed them under his chin as he always did when he was deep in thought. Suddenly, his phone went off and he sighed loudly. He didn't like being interrupted, but this particular text wasn't usual.

She's hiding something, can't you see it? - JM

Sherlock didn't even bother reading the number it had been sent from. Moriarty was too clever for him to track it, and anyway, it changed every time. Instead he decided to reply.

I take it you mean my wife. Why would you warn me? - SH

The reply back was swift, Jim had obviously been poised over the keyboard, hinting to Sherlock that he's excited, that it all must be part of his game. Sherlock decided to play along. For now.

Let's have a get-together. Just you and me. Where do you suggest? - JM

The pool? - SH

Nice touch. Be there. - JM

Jemima looked up again as her husband quickly jumped out of his chair.

"I'm going out." He announced suddenly. He only looked at Jemima for a second but she saw something in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Confusion and a slight sense of betrayal flicked in his bright eyes. He usually kissed her goodbye with a warm smile whenever he went out, but this time he didn't.

"Goodbye." She said to his retreating back as he rushed out and slammed the door behind him without another word.


	26. The Return of an Old Friend

"Hello Mr Holmes." A voice called from the other end of the pool as Sherlock entered the dimly lit room. "I was beginning to think you'd lost your way."

"Stuck in traffic." Sherlock said, seemingly calm, like it was just any normal conversation, but inside his stomach was turning, and the conversation was far from normal. Moriarty sauntered towards Sherlock with a purposeful stride and a smirk playing on his lips.

"Let's get straight to it. Shall we?" He said, stopping just in front of Sherlock. He shivered slightly. Just being near Moriarty was enough to make him scared, but curiosity had got him here and it would get him through the conversation. Sherlock needed to know what his wife was hiding.

"If my wife was hiding something from me then why would you tell me about it?" Sherlock asked.

"Because I like to watch you burn." He replied simply, a phrase that made Sherlock's blood run cold.

"What is it she's hiding?" Sherlock said. "How could she burn me?"

"Well. I'm not going to tell you outright, am I? You see, I not only love you watch you burn, I love to watch you dance. I can get both at once with this. A two-in-one package." Moriarty grinned, walking around Sherlock as he spoke.

"How much do you know?" Sherlock asked.

"Enough. Do you want a clue?" Moriarty asked.

"Of course." Sherlock replied.

"Let's just say," Moriarty paused, as if he was taking a while to think about it. "You're going to get a visit from an old friend rather soon."

"How do I know you're telling me the truth?"

"You don't." Moriarty stated plainly, turning his back and beginning to walk away. "That's something you need to figure out for yourself."

Sherlock watched as Moriarty paced down beside the deserted pool and through the door. His mind was racing as he tried to decipher the cryptic message he'd just been delivered. It didn't take him long to snap out of his mind palace however; he realised that the only way he was going to solve this case, was to talk to the puzzle itself. He walked swiftly out of the pool, his feet making a faint splashing noise as he made his way over the wet tiles. The chlorine odour filled his nose and made him gald to get out and instead walk along the pavement under the dim light of the street lamps. 

A taxi soon came past and Sherlock hopped in. He tented his fingers under his chin after sitting down in the back seat, trying to come up with possible solutions, trying to separate lies from truth. His stomach wrenched slightly as the taxi finally pulled up outside 221b. One part of him didn't want to know what his wife was hiding, another part of him wouldn't be able to survive not knowing. He handed the taxi driver the fee without a second glance and rushed inside, the door-knocker slamming against the shiny black wood as he threw it shut in his wake. Mrs Hudson quickly appeared at her door when she heard Sherlock's hurried footsteps, but on seeing his face she retreated back into the kitchen, expecting to soon hear signs of a 'domestic'.

Jemima was still sitting at the desk working on the computer when Sherlock came in. She looked up and smiled, but when she saw the coldness in her husband's eyes, it soon faded. She could almost see the anger bubbling up inside him as he stared her in the face. 

"What's the matter?" She asked innocently. She knew something was very, very wrong.

"You know something about Beatrice, don't you?" He asked, cutting straight to the chase.

"Who?" She replied, her face a mask of confusion. 

"The girl I told you about. The only one I loved before you. I told you about her. Don't pretend that you don't remember." He told her, his eyes cold and stern.

"I don't know what you mean. I've never met her. The first thing I heard about her was from you." Jemima told him, holding her hands up in mock surrender. 

"What do you know about her?" Sherlock pushed. 

"Nothing, I told you." Jemima said, slightly frustrated. 

"I think you do know. It's something bad, I get that. I just want to know what it is." Sherlock said, hands balled into fists by his sides.

"There's really nothing to tell, I don't know anything about her." Jemima insisted.

"Don't lie to me. Moriarty wouldn't warn me about my own wife unless it was something bad. He said you were hiding something from me and he mentioned something about an old friend. He said he wanted to watch me burn." Sherlock said, relentless in his interrogation.

"Oh my God! You listened to Moriarty over me!" Jemima scoffed, laughing loudly. She got up from her chair to be at Sherlock's level so she could look him in the eye. Suddenly, he turned sinister.

"Tell me, now. Don't lie. What are you hiding?" He asked through gritted teeth. Jemima backed up away from him until she was against the wall. Sherlock just narrowed the gap again, staring her down. 

"He's playing a game with you Sherlock. He knows that we talked about Bea. Somehow he's listening in and he's using what he's found to make you paranoid." She said calmly.

"No. I can see right through him, I know his methods. He's tried to trick me before and he knows it doesn't work." 

"How do you know?" She challenged.

"He's already pleased with himself. He knows he's already won and he hasn't raised a finger. He kidnapped you for a reason. He said it was to get to me but he's obviously lying. He had an ulterior motive didn't he? He was threatening you! He wanted you to know that he knows what you're hiding and he used it to threaten you. If he'd wanted you dead you would be buried by now. What are you hiding from me?" He demanded, staring her down again. She seemed to buckle under his gaze and she gave in.

"Fine. Yes. I do know about Bea." She said looking at her shoes in disgrace. She slowly shifted away from Sherlock and made her way into the bedroom. Inside one of her drawers was a small trinket box with a small lock. She wore the key around her neck and quickly gained access. Inside were various small objects of importance, including a small picture. It was creased everywhere, torn at the edges, faded and battered but it still meant a lot to Jemima. She fished it carefully from the box and handed it to her husband with shaking hands. It showed two teenagers at about sixteen years old. They were laughing and had their arms around each other's waists and were pulling in close. The girl was average height, with shoulder-length golden brown hair. The boy she held was much taller and had dark black curls, piercing eyes and high, sharp cheekbones. He almost cried at the sight of the girl in the picture. He hadn't laid eyes on her in over twenty years. He still remembered her smell, her laugh, her smile. Every detail still etched into the walls of his mind palace no matter how many times he'd tried to scrub them away. He remembered the day she'd left him behind without warning, the way she'd disappeared and left him in the dust without a goodbye. He still hadn't  forgiven her. She was the one who broke his heart. Mycroft was left to pick up the pieces, teaching Sherlock how to shut himself away to keep control over his emotions. It still pained him just to look at the photo. Sherlock stared at himself and the girl smiling out at him and it suddenly struck him how alike Jemima and Bea were. Then he realised.

"It's me." Jemima said pitifully, looking ashamed of herself. "I'm Bea. I came back."


	27. The End

Sherlock stared at his wife in disbelief. She was a liar. She'd been his first love and left him behind and come back to deceive him all over again. He watched as she bit her lip nervously, holding back anxious tears.

"Please say something, anything." She said desparately.

"You're a liar. You've been lying to me for months." He stated the obvious, anger starting to boil up inside him. 

"I know. I'm sorry, I couldn't be more sorry. I thought it was for the best." She said pitifully, choking back tears.

"How is that for the best! How could you possibly believe that! I trusted you! You were the one I loved because I knew I could trust you! You disgust me." He spat out the venomous words as the bubbling anger made its way into his throat.

"I didn't want to be Bea anymore. I had good reason for leaving you then, I had no choice, but I always regretted it. I changed my identity because I needed to hide. I never regretted anything more." She said, now openly crying. Sherlock frowned at her tears with disgust.

"I don't believe you. This is like Mary and John all over again."

"John forgave Mary. Please, forgive me. Please." She made a move towards Sherlock to take his hand as she begged but he finched away with a look of contempt.

"I don't think I can forgive you. I certainly can't trust you ever again." He told her. 

"Please Sherlock. I can explain." She begged.

"I don't care about you idiotic explanations anymore. We're done." He said, matter-of-factly.

"But Sherlock you can't..."

"Yes I can." He interrupted. "Get out. Pack your things and get out of my sight."

"Sherlock!" She cried,tears spilling over her already red cheeks.

"No. Get out. There's no point trying to bargain with me." He said. He left the room and Jemima stood there alone, in total shock. He was soon back with some suitcases of Jemima's that she had used to move in. He threw them down in front of her casually and left to sit in his armchair, fingers tented under his chin, maintaining a neutral expression as if he hadn't just ordered his wife to leave and not come back. He watched her steadily as she walked around the flat, gathering up all of her possessions and bundling them into suitcases. When she finally finished, she took a quick look around the flat from the doorway as if to say goodbye before shooting a bitter look at her husband. 

It turned out that Mrs Hudson had been listening at the bottom of the stairs with a worried face and she quickly enveloped Jemima in a hug as soon as she could. Jemima smiled at her weakly.

"Goodbye Mrs Hudson." She said simply,turned away and focused her attention towards the cold rainy night outside, already feeling the raindrops straining to get through the doorway and chill her to the bone. Jemima Jones walked out into the night and closed the door of 221b Baker Street firmly behind her for the last time.


	28. Just Like Old Times

John was sitting with Mary on the sofa watching evening television. She snuggled into his arms and he smiled warmly at her. There was a quiet scene in the programme and they heard a faint pitter-pattering from outside. 

"Is it still raining?" She moaned,staring at the window the noise was coming from. She pulled her dressing gown tighter around her waist.

"Yeah I think so." He replied. "It's really cold, isn't it?"

"Is the boiler on?" She questioned.

"Not sure, I'll check." John said, detangling his arms from around his wife and waking out. He went to the boiler cupboard and pressed his hand up against the metal, it was stone cold and it wasn't lit. John swore loudly and quickly turned it back on.

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Jemima dragged her large bags from the taxi and hauled them over onto the wet pavement. Her hair was instantly soaked in the downpour. She paid the gruff-looking taxi driver and watched him leave. She looked over her shoulder at John's house and sighed. She carried all her suitcases one by one to the plain-looking door. She finally rang the doorbell and immediately heard an angry shout from inside, making her finch back slightly. John opened the door forcefully, clearly fuming at being disturbed so late, but his face softened when he saw who was standing there. His eyes widened with shock as he took in the sight of Jemima's defeated, waterlogged form. Her hair hung in wet straggles around her head and she had sore, puffy eyes and bright red cheeks from crying.

"What happened?" He asked urgently.

"Sherlock." She replied bitterly. "See, it's just like old times, isn't it?"

"Is he...?" John said, lines etched into his face with worry.

"No, don't worry your pretty little head. Your beloved Sherlock is fine and well up in his little palace." She said patronisingly. "He just kicked his own wife out, that's all."

"What?" John replied as he let her into the house.

"It's a long story." Jemima said, her angry, bitter tone masking the obvious despair underneath. John could see her eyes looking watery as he helped her bring suitcases inside.

"You can stay in the guest room, it's not a problem." He told her kindly.

"Thank you." She said hoarsely, pulling him into a tight hug, a few tears spilling over down her cheeks.

"You can go and sit with Mary, she's in there." He gestured down the hallway to the sitting room where he'd left his wife curled up on the sofa. "I'm going to have a chat with Sherlock."

Jemima was really trying to compose herself as she took off her wet shoes and walked into the sitting room. At once Mary lept up and ran over to her.

"What happened to you?" She asked, wearing the same worried expression that John had moments earlier. Jemima said nothing, finally breaking down into sobs. She was immediately pulled into a warm hug and lead to the soft sofa. She sobbed into Mary's arms like a small child. She looked up, scared, when she heard John shouting loudly into the phone in another room, it only made her sob harder.

"You promised me that you wouldn't hurt her! You promised! She's my friend! How could you do that?" She heard him screaming.

"What happened to you?" Mary repeated her question after Jemima had managed to regain some composure. 

Jemima then began to explain everything that had happened between herself and Sherlock. She recounted everything, the words spilling out of her like a fountian as she began to get angry. Then, when she told Mary how Sherlock had kicked her out without a second glance or even a goodbye, she choked on her sentences and refused to finish. She sat in silence for a while, staring blankly at the wall in front of her with her knees tucked up to her chest and her arms wrapped around herself.

John returned to the sitting room with the phone in hand and a defeated expression on his face.

"He's refusing to see sense. He won't let you back Jemima. I tried. I'm so sorry." He said, looking down at his slippers.

"It's fine. Thank you. I think I'll go to bed now, but I know where I need to go. I'll be out of your way by lunchtime tomorrow." She said. Before either of them could say anything to her, she'd walked out and was beginning to walk upstairs, suitcases in tow.

\--------------------------------------

John lay awake in bed that night. He could hear Jemima's muffled wailing from the next room. She sounded like a wounded animal. She was obviously trying to be quiet but she just couldn't hold it back. He realised that a night like this had eventually led to Sherlock and Jemima's relationship beginning, and it would now end with one. He remembered how empty he'd felt that night at Jemima's, knowing for sure that Sherlock wasn't there for him anymore. He remembered being in her position and he didn't want to wish it on anybody, especially not her. He cared about her and he'd led her into a relationship that ended up just hurting her. He felt guilty, even though there was no way he could have ever known the outcome.

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Sherlock lay in his bed, unable to sleep, as was often the case. He wished that life could just be simple, that people could be simple. He didn't understand why the people he loved had to be so complicated. He already missed Jemima, but he believed it was for the best. If she had kept something that big from him, he could never trust her again. He was firm on that, but it didn't stop him hurting. Sherlock turned over in his bed and began to sob, in a way he never had since he was little. He wished that Mycroft was there to take care of him, as he always had been when he was younger. Mycroft was one of the only people that understood Sherlock in times like this. He couldn't trust his wife and he had angered his best friend, so he had nobody else to turn to but his brother. But Mycroft was away and there was no answer on his phone. Sherlock lay alone, feeling more desparate than he had ever done in his life.


End file.
